Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN A Difficult Mourning

IT WAS WELL AND TRULY THE UGLIEST DRESS I had ever seen.

Madame Wilkie held it up for my inspection, and it was all I could do to keep from groaning in dismay.

It was plain and severe, the fabric so black it seemed to suck the very light out of the room.

"Well," Grandmother said with a thump of her cane. "Try it on. We don't have all day."

Madame Wilkie laid the monstrosity down on the settee and helped me out of the frock I was wearing; gray and black plaid, it seemed positively cheerful by comparison.

I shivered as she went to the settee to fetch the mourning gown.

"I've been debating whether the officiating reverend should read from Job or the Book of Common Prayer. Do you have an opinion?"

"Job is the book with all the trials heaped upon that poor man's head, right?" If I was remembering it correctly, it contained more curses and plagues than Thutmose III's war minister, Amenemhab's writings.

"Yes. It can be quite dramatic and invigorating."

"But isn't the whole point of a funeral to allow people to make peace with the one who has just passed on?"

Grandmother's face fell a little bit. "That is true."

"Ready, miss?"

At my nod, Madame Wilkie slipped the monstrosity over my head and tugged the thing into place.

Grandmother took one look at me and cheered up considerably. "Perfect. You look properly subdued and respectful."

What I looked was a fright. Not only was it the ugliest fabric ever, but it itched. I discreetly reached up to adjust my sleeve, using the opportunity to scratch at my wrist.

"Don't fidget," Grandmother ordered.

"If miss will just hold still," Madame Wilkie said, "I shall pin the hem in place and be done."

"I've had a brass plaque engraved for Sopcoate's casket," Grandmother continued. "It reads, 'Here Lies Admiral Sopcoate, an Unsung Hero.'"

Before I could even process the terrible mistake she was making, an idea exploded inside me, just like one of Henry's whirligigs.

Since there was no body to place in it, Sopcoate's coffin would be empty. How hard would it be to slip Tetley's body in there unnoticed and give that poor man a proper burial? Excitement fizzed in my veins at the thought of being able to lay him to rest. Plus, it would have the added benefit of keeping Tetley's mut from pestering poor Henry.

I could hardly hold still, I was so excited. In fact, I was so absorbed in trying to figure out the details of my new plan that I didn't even feel it when Madame Wilkie stuck my ankle with one of her beastly pins, and I barely even noticed when Grandmother scolded me for daydreaming.

As soon as they left, I hurried to the reading room, intent on finding everything I could about Egyptian burial rituals and ceremonies. I spent the afternoon engrossed in Erasmus Bramwell's Funerary Magic, Mummies, and Curses and Mordecai Black's A Dark Journey Through the Egyptian Underworld. Of course, I also had to consult The Rites of the Dead by Sir Roger Mortis.

I was so engrossed in my research that it took a few minutes to realize that Fagenbush had been standing in the doorway. "How long have you been there?" I asked.

"Long enough," he said. "I have a message for you."

I tried to pull my mind away from the Opening of the Mouth ceremony and focus on him, but it was hard.

"From Wigmere."

That got my full attention.

"He wants me to tell you that Will has been suspended, and if you continue to refuse to communicate through me, you will be too."

I leaped to my feet. "What did you say?"

Fagenbush took great joy in repeating his news. "Will's been suspended. And you will be too if you don't start following orders."

I stared at Fagenbush, loathing him beyond words. "You put Wigmere up to this. You can't stand it that I trust Will more than I trust you."

He took a step toward me. "Will is an ex-pickpocket. A dirty little street urchin with no sense of honor or loyalty. I have worked for the Brotherhood for eight years and lost a loved one to its mission, so of course I think I am better fit to work with Wigmere. Especially since no organization is stronger than its weakest link. In our case, that happens to be an eleven-year-old spoiled brat who has no idea what she's playing at. You're a child. Will's a child. This is no business for children."

I was so angry I was shaking. "I may well be the child here, but who is it that went tattling to Wigmere when he didn't get his way? Certainly that is more childish than anything I've done." I stormed out of the room.

My mind churning, I strode down the hallway, not sure where I was going. I could hardly believe that Wigmere would suspend Will. My stomach was in knots. What would Will do for money? Would he return to pickpocketing? I sincerely hoped not.

Not to mention that I'd been counting on Wigmere to shed some light on the meaning of the events of last night. Now I didn't even know if he had received my report before he'd suspended Will.

And so I was on my own. I had to figure out why Awi Bubu thought the tablet was so very important—and whether or not that meant it was important to us. All without Wigmere's aid.

Very well. I'd exhausted all the materials in our reading room. There was nothing left to be found on our shelves regarding the Emerald Tablet. And Wigmere's vast knowledge was unavailable to me, at least for the moment. So now what?

Really, there was only one other place that might have more information. A place so off-limits and forbidden that it would have my parents gnashing their teeth if they knew: the British Museum. Its reading room, to be exact. There was a good chance it might have something that ours didn't.