“Isis,” I said, carefully enunciating her name. She stopped snarling and went back to eating her fish. I spent the next few minutes talking to her, saying calming things and using her name every three or four words. It seemed to work. She calmed down quite a bit and even ate the last sardine without having to kill it all over again.
Then I had to decide how to coax her over to the bed. If I’d been thinking properly, I’d have saved the last sardine and put it at my feet once I lay down in the sarcophagus.
Why is it that all the really great ideas always come too late? I went and settled myself in the sarcophagus, calling Isis’s name and that of Horus, the god whose protection I’d put in her amulet, the whole time.
Her eyes grew more focused and less frenzied looking. After many stops and starts, she made her way to the sarcophagus and gracefully hopped up onto the edge, balancing delicately as she tried to decide what to do. Finally, she hopped down to my feet and began knitting at the blanket with her claws. Soon a loud rumbling purr started up. With a sigh of relief, I allowed myself to fall back against my pillow. It looked like that amulet might be doing the trick after all.
I could only hope a great idea on how to solve the whole toppling of Britain would come as easily.
Chaos Rising
I WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF SAWING. Well, it sounded like sawing. When I managed to pry my eyes open and look around, I saw Isis raking her claws on the door, trying to get out. She’d left big raw gashes in the wood. Father was going to kill me.
I leaped out of bed. She took one look at me, arched her back, and hissed ferociously. Clearly whatever magic I’d woven last night was gone this morning. Heart sinking, I opened the door and watched her dash out of sight.
My eyes were gritty with sleep, so I washed my face, then changed into a clean frock.
Starving, I hurried to the sitting room to start breakfast, hoping Mum had thought to bring some supplies from home. When I reached the sitting room, I stopped to sniff. “Is something burning?” I asked Henry.
“No. Mum’s making us breakfast,” he said, fidgeting and banging his heels on the bottom rung of his chair.
“But Mum doesn’t cook,” I reminded him.
“Well, today I decided to,” Mum announced as she carried a plate of charred toast and an eggcup over to Henry. “I’ve neglected you horribly for months. I want to make it up to you.”
I stared at Henry’s blackened toast. By poisoning us?
“I’ll start one for you.” She went back to the sideboard and slipped a thick piece of bread onto the toasting fork. “How many eggs would you like?”
I watched Henry pick up one of his blackened toast strips and boink it against his egg. He frowned. It was supposed to dip, not boink.
“Only one,” I said, my eyes still glued to Henry’s plate.
“Coming right up, dear.”
Henry boinked his toast once more, then gave up. He picked up the egg and took a bite.
“Mum?” I asked.
“Yes, dear?”
“How do you decide which artifacts to bring back with you when you’re on a dig? You mentioned that you had to leave lots of things behind, so how do you choose?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s because we don’t have anything else like it in the museum, or it might be one of a kind. Mostly I just rely on instinct.”
Ah! Perhaps Mother was mistaking a tingle of warning for an instinct. Surely this ability of mine came from somewhere. “Instinct?”
“Hm-hm. I let my instincts guide me as to which will make the most striking exhibit.” She carried a plate and eggcup to the table and set them in front of me. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” I stared at my egg for a moment, then lifted my spoon and sliced off the top. Just as I feared. Hard as chalk. “Do you ever get the willies when you’re down in the tombs? Just you and all those ancient relics?” I asked.
“What a ridiculous question! Of course not.”
“Who actually knew about the Heart of Egypt, Mum? Knew that you’d found it?” I took a small bite from an un-burned corner of toast and began to chew.
“Well, there was the work crew, Nabir, Hakim, Stanton, and Willsbury. And the director of the Antiquity Institute. I had to tell him so I could get permission to take it out of the country.”
I choked down the bite of toast and took a sip of tea. “That’s quite a lot of people.” I had hoped there were only one or two. Then it would be easy to trace the leak directly back to who was responsible for stealing the artifact.
I looked over at Henry, who’d stopped banging his feet and was listening intently.
“Oh! And von Braggenschnott knew. He was the one who helped convince the director to let me take it out of the country.”
There it was! I knew I’d heard that name before. “Who is this von Braggenschnott fellow, anyway?” I asked as casually as I could. “I heard you and Father talking about him.”
“He’s the head of the German National Archaeological Association.”
“What are the Germans doing in Egypt?”
“Oh, they’ve always been in Egypt. Just like us, the French, Americans, Italians, they all have archaeological teams over there.”
“But didn’t you say there were more Germans than usual this time?”
Mother frowned. “Yes. That’s true. They’ve been increasing their presence there over the last four years. Ever since von Braggenschnott took over.”
I studied my egg. Surely there was a way to avoid eating it without hurting Mother’s feelings.
“He’s a rather disreputable fellow, I’m afraid. Which is unfortunate as it casts a taint over all of Germany’s excavations.”
While Mother wasn’t looking, I fished my handkerchief out of my pocket, snatched the egg out of its cup, and shoved it into the crumpled linen. “What makes him so disreputable?”
“He deals in black-market antiquities and smuggles artifacts out of the country for private collections. Among other things. Why all the questions?”
“No reason. Just trying to get a feel for how things work over there.”
She cast me a puzzled glance, then shook her head. “I’m going to be down in Receiving cataloging the new things if you need me.”
“Thanks for breakfast,” I said, slipping the wrapped egg into the pocket of my skirt. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
“My pleasure, dear. We’ll have to do this more often.”
Henry rolled his eyes at me and I gave him a sharp kick under the table. When Mother had gone, I reached over and took the newspaper from Father’s place. He hadn’t even touched it yet so I tried not to wrinkle it too badly. I wanted to see if there was any mention of the adventures over in St. Paul’s churchyard the day before.
As I scanned the paper, a headline caught my eye. “Crop Blight Appears in Northern Counties. Record Shortfall Expected.”
Lord Wigmere’s words rang in my ears: plague, pestilence, famine. At the word “famine,” my mind turned to the bleak, hungry faces I’d seen yesterday. I had a good idea what famine looked like.
I turned back to the paper and began reading about the record flooding and freezing temperatures in the north. Henry came round the table and began reading over my shoulder.
“What’s a pustule?” he asked.
“It’s disgusting, is what it is,” I told him.
“No. I mean, what is it?”
“Where did you see it?” I asked.
He pointed to a small item on the bottom-left corner. I leaned over and read the headline: “Virulent Illness Strikes Dozens in Hampsford.”
“Bother. Now all we need are locusts.”
“What’s a locust?”
“It’s a big, beetley grasshoppery type thing. Eats crops,” I explained, my mind churning furiously.
“Do you mean like that?” Henry asked, pointing to a big beetley grasshoppery thing clinging to the outside of the windowpane in the pouring rain.
“Oh, lovely.�
�
“What?”
“Nothing.” I wondered how hard it would be to get in touch with Lord Wigmere. Mum had just launched the end of civilization.
Going on an Ally Hunt
NOW I HAD TO DO SOMETHING. There was simply no choice. Not with the Heart of Egypt’s curse beginning to do its damage here in Britain. I glanced back down at the paper, intending to read the article again, hoping I might be wrong. Instead my eyes landed on a photograph on the right-hand corner of the front page. “It’s him!” I said, startling poor Henry so badly that he dropped his last piece of toast—butter-side down, of course.
“It’s one of those Germans we were following yesterday. The one who stabbed Stokes.”
Henry’s eyes grew wide. “Crikey!” He leaned forward and shoved me out of the way so he could see the picture better.
The article was dreadfully boring, full of politics and treaty negotiations between Britain and Germany. The main thrust of it was that Britain could hold off entering into a substandard treaty with the Germans as long as we remained strong domestically. For now, the German delegation was giving up and returning home. The writer of the article made it quite clear that Britain would be able to negotiate in her own best interests only as long as her economy remained strong. Further talks were scheduled for the spring.
Of course! If Britain was in a weakened state, brought on by plague, pestilence, and famine, we would lose our bargaining power. A weakened Britain couldn’t possibly negotiate in her own best interests because she’d be dependent on other countries. Wigmere was right. How wickedly brilliant! Germany was using the power of ancient Egyptian magic to topple its adversaries. Just like Thutmose III and Amenemhab had.
I hurried through the rest of the article. It didn’t mention von Braggenschnott by name, but it did say the delegation would be leaving their residence in Carleton Terrace Gardens and returning to Germany tomorrow on the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse. That cinched it—Will had said he’d followed the man tailing me back to Carleton Terrace. They had to be connected!
***
The easiest solution would have been to leave it all to Wigmere and his Brotherhood, but he hadn’t looked too hopeful yesterday. Plus, it was Mother who’d brought the vile thing home—it seemed as if someone in our family ought to take responsibility for it. I quailed at the enormity of the task, then forced myself to look on the bright side: surely saving Britain would impress Mother and Father. I mean, they’d notice that, wouldn’t they?
After hours of thinking, I finally came up with a possible plan. Unfortunately, there was simply no way I could do this on my own. I would need help. I loathe asking people for help. First of all, they rarely say yes. And second, even when they do, they can rarely be trusted to do as they’re told. Wigmere had been adamant about not telling my parents, which left Henry and Will.
Henry was the only other person who knew of Wigmere’s organization, even though he didn’t realize the half of it. But perhaps I could gain Henry and Will’s cooperation without telling them anything they didn’t already know. Then I wouldn’t be breaking my promise to Wigmere. Will, in fact, would be a key player in this plan of mine. If he was agreeable, that is. His part was rather dangerous, which worried me, but then so did plague, pestilence, and famine.
The weakest link would be Henry, but I wasn’t going to think about that just yet.
I looked out the window, hoping against hope it had stopped raining.
No such luck. Which meant I would have to make my way to Charing Cross Station in the freezing rain. It was the only place where I knew to find Will, and time was of the essence. I had to reach him today so we could put our plan into action for tomorrow.
The tricky part was getting out of the museum without attracting Henry’s attention. I didn’t want to risk him following me again. Last time I saw him, he had muttered something about being sick of all this Egypt rubbish and headed off toward the armor exhibits.
I grabbed my thickest coat and an umbrella and stepped out into the downpour. The wind had picked up and was blowing the sheets of rain sideways. Small streams of water ran down the gutters, and the traffic in the street was a hopeless tangle. Of course, now that I knew about the curse, the rain seemed much more sinister, as if the very drops themselves were laying a thin film of chaos over the land.
With one last, longing glance at an omnibus, I began trudging my way to Charing Cross. I so wished I had enough money for an omnibus today and a cab tomorrow. But I didn’t. And tomorrow was when we would need a ride most.
Once I reached Charing Cross Station, I realized that getting here was the easy part. Now I had to find Sticky Will.
There was an absolute wall of bodies everywhere. The smell of wet wool and smoke filled the damp air. I stepped back from the crowd and tried to guess where I would be right now if I were a pickpocket.
Well, that was obvious. Right in the middle of the potential pickings, of course. You wanted lots of people jostling about so your movements would be well hidden. And you’d want to be near the richest-looking pockets.
I took a few more steps back and found a bench to stand on. As I peered over the mob of people, I spotted a man with a very well cut suit holding an ivory-handled cane, a gold watch chain dangling from his waistcoat.
He looked like a good target to me. Not that I was planning on picking his pocket. I just wanted to find the person who might be thinking of it.
I pushed and squirmed my way through the crowd toward the man.
Just as I reached him, I saw a small, grimy hand reach out and slip itself into the man’s pocket. Honestly! How could no one notice such a thing?
“Caught you,” I said under my breath.
Sticky Will startled so badly that he dropped the man’s wallet back into his pocket.
“Blimey, miss! You scared the snot outta me!”
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I need to talk to you. Now.” As I dragged him to the edge of the crowd, he mumbled something about me costing him a pretty penny.
I found a spot out of the rain under an awning where we wouldn’t be crushed to death before I’d explained what I needed.
“Wot’s up?” Sticky Will asked.
“First, tell me what happened to you yesterday. Were you able to follow that fellow?”
“Aye, miss. He went ter Carleton ‘Ouse Terrace, too. I tried to get close enough to get yer thingamajig, but he was guarded up too tight like.”
“Did he see you?”
“No. I’m sure of it. Is that wot you came all this way to find out?”
Now that it was actually time to lay out my plan, I was suddenly tongue-tied. What if he thought I was off my nut like everyone else? I mean, Will didn’t know what was going on, and I had to get his cooperation without betraying Wigmere’s trust. I would have to appeal to his sense of adventure and national pride; hopefully, he would never find out that I hadn’t told him the full truth. “No. It has to do with that artifact we were chasing yesterday.”
Will nodded. “Go on.”
“It is vitally important that we get it back. Those German fellows who nabbed it are up to no good. The artifact has, er, special properties that make it more dangerous than most.”
His eyes widened and he leaned forward. “Wot properties?” he asked. “Is it cursed?”
I started. “Cursed? What do you know about curses?”
Will leaned back and sniffed. “Ain’t I good enough to know about curses?”
Oh, no. Not that again. “Of course you are, you twit. It’s just that so few people believe in them, I hadn’t expected you to.”
“Oy. All you have to do is read one of them penny dreadfuls to know curses is alive and well.”
I started to remind him that penny dreadfuls were make-believe, then realized it didn’t matter why he believed what I said. “Well, you’re right. It is cursed. A horrible, vile curse.”
“Blimey,” he said, his eyes now as round as saucers.
“Exactly. And in o
rder to make sure that nothing bad happens, we have to get the artifact back from the Germans. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” he squeaked.
“You.” I nodded. “Only someone with your skill and experience can do what needs to be done.”
“Wot needs to be done, then?”
“Well, here’s my plan. I saw in this morning’s paper that the Germans are leaving tomorrow on a ship. You, Henry, and I will follow them down to the docks. We’ll have Henry create a diversion, and while everyone’s attention is distracted, you’ll sneak in and pinch the artifact right out of one of the Germans’ pockets.” I leaned back. “What do you think? Can you do it?”
“It’d be the pinch of a lifetime! They could even write one o’ them books about me!”
“Exactly! And you’re the only one I know who can do it. You’re small, you’re quick, and, thanks to me, you know who has it. But you won’t get to keep it. It will have to be returned to … be taken care of properly.”
His face fell a bit at that but, really, what could a pick-pocketing urchin do with something like the Heart of Egypt?
“It’s not like you could use it to pay for sausages or a new coat,” I explained as gently as I could.
He puffed himself up, bristly as a hedgehog. “Wot’s wrong with this coat, I’d like to know?”
“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. I just meant, the artifact is so unique and recognizable, it’s not like you could sell it or anything without getting caught.”
“You mean fence it?”
“Yes. That’s the word.”
“Wol, me friend could fence anything, but I get what you mean.”
“Then you’ll do it?” I asked.
His eyes sparkled. “Yes, miss. I will.”
Wonderful. That was one problem solved. Now I just had to work out the two dozen other obstacles that stood in our way and we’d be all set.
R. L. Lafevers Page 12
