Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

CHAPTER TWENTY A-Sneaking We Will Go

THAT EVENING, MY PARENTS tucked me and Henry into our beds at eight-thirty, then left for an engagement. I gave it fifteen minutes to be sure they hadn't forgotten something, like Father's gloves or Mum's beaded reticule. When I was sure they wouldn't be coming back, I slipped out of bed and headed over to the pitcher and washbasin on my dresser. Before doing any magic or ritual of this importance, it was necessary to purify oneself so that—well, I'm not sure why, to be honest. But all the ancient Egyptian priests did it, so I assumed it was important. I wasn't about to attempt the rites unpurified and then just see what happened. It did not pay to cut corners with Egyptian magic.

I washed my face and neck and behind my ears, then washed my hands twice. Next, I slipped into a fresh set of drawers, a clean petticoat, and a heavy cotton dress. I couldn't let anything made of wool or leather, anything that was part of an animal, touch my skin. I rinsed my mouth out with salt (since there was no natron at hand), and at last I was ready. My first stop was Mother's boudoir to collect one of the seven sacred oils I would need.

I tiptoed into her room and studied the small assortment of bottles, jars, and brushes on her dressing table. When I was younger, she used to let me play dress-up and put her combs in my hair and fluff her powder on my cheeks. A wave of longing for those simpler days swept through me, leaving me nearly breathless. I missed that innocence, that special alone time with Mother. Instead, here I was pinching her perfume so I could prevent a fake mummy's very real ghost from haunting my younger brother. With a sigh of frustration, I snatched the small crystal bottle of rose geranium oil from her dresser and shoved it into my pocket.

Next, I made my way to Father's dressing room and filched the Macassar oil he used on his hair. Two down, five to go.

I headed downstairs to the pantry where I knew Cook and Mrs. Murdley, our housekeeper, stored the household oils. Hopefully, I could find what I needed there.

I was in luck. Betsy, the housemaid, was prone to coughs and chest ailments, so we had a good store of camphor oil and eucalyptus oil. There was also a thick green bottle of cedar oil and a small bottle of lavender oil. I still needed one more. Then I remembered—the wretched cod-liver oil! A year ago, Cook had gotten it into her head that Henry and I needed daily doses of the foul stuff. After exactly three days of that, we'd had enough. In one of our moments of perfect accord, we had taken the hateful brown bottle and hidden it.

I hurried to the old Huntley and Palmers biscuit tin where we'd stashed it. The ugly brown bottle was still there! Dusty as you please, but more than three-quarters full. Excellent.

I carefully placed all the bottles of oil in a large, flat-bottomed basket, covered them with a tea towel, and set it by the back door. I returned to the pantry and got an even bigger basket and began collecting things for Tetley's funeral feast. I was sorely tempted to take the Easter ham, but I was certain Cook would notice that. Instead, I took a leftover meat pie, a cold chicken, a tin of biscuits, and part of a lemon cake that we'd had for tea. If anyone noticed them missing, I would simply blame it on Henry's newfound enormous appetite.

Which brought me to my last problem: Henry. More specifically, how to get him to come with us to the museum. I was sure he wouldn't want to go and equally sure that he, or more important, the mut who'd attached itself to him needed to be there in order for the ceremony to work.

I pondered this problem as I lugged the heavy second basket over to the door. The floor behind me creaked, and I froze.

"Theo? Is that you?"

I dropped the basket with a thunk, glad it wasn't the one with all the oils in it, then turned around. "Henry? What are you doing up?"

"I heard noises and came to see what was going on." He glanced at the basket I'd just dropped and at the second one by the door and perked up. "I say, are you running away?"

"No," I said carefully. This part would be tricky. If I asked Henry outright if he wanted to come with me, he'd say no. He'd made it quite clear what he thought of all these activities of mine. I had to find a way to make him want to come without his knowing it was what I'd wanted all along.

Henry crossed the kitchen and squatted down to look at what was in the baskets. "Well, if you're not running away, what are you doing?" He reached for the lemon cake and I swatted his hand away.

Nursing his hand, he narrowed his eyes at me. "You're play-acting at your mysterious game again, aren't you?"

"Something like that," I admitted. "But I know you don't care for it, so I didn't invite you."

His eyes dipped back down to the basket. "So why d'you need all that food then?"

"It's for a picnic. After the game."

"Where's this picnic going to be?"

"At the museum."

"And you're going to eat all that?"

"No. Some friends are coming with me." Then, as if on cue, there was a light scratch at the back door.

Henry jumped. "What's that?" he hissed.

"My friends," I said, and opened the door. Will, Ratsy, Sparky, and Snuffles stood there, nearly hopping on their toes with excitement.

"Let's get a move on, miss. Makes me nervous to stand in one place so long."

"Hullo," Henry said.

"'Ey, mate!" Sparky said. "Will didn't tell us you was comin' too."

"He doesn't want to come," I said.

Henry shoved me aside with his elbow. "I never said that. Let me just get my coat."

He ran over and grabbed an old jacket from a hook near the pantry and slipped it on, and I fought down the urge to cheer. It had worked! He was coming with us. And I hadn't had to cosh him over the head and drag him the whole way.

The fog had moved in, casting a chilling, thick pall over our neighborhood. The street lamps glowed eerily through the gently undulating wisps. Henry scooted a bit closer to Sparky.

"Oy, watch out, mate. You're standing on me toes!"

"Oh, sorry," Henry said, then sidled closer to me.

Will and his brothers, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable marching along the dark streets of London, as if they did it often. I, however, was greatly relieved to see the tall spires of the museum come into sight. Will's steps faltered slightly. "Looks a bit different at night, don't it?"

"Yes, it does." It was an unusual building to begin with, very Gothic looking, with tall towers and odd spires here and there that seemed very sinister when observed on a foggy night with no adults around.

"'Ow're we going to avoid that watchman of yours, miss?"

Flimp! I'd nearly forgotten about him. "The back entrance, I think. It's more of a storage and unloading area, so he probably doesn't check there that often. Besides, it's farthest from his post."

Will gave a nod, then motioned for his brothers to follow. We scuttled across the deserted square and around the side of the building to the loading dock.

When we reached the back door, Will and his brothers stepped aside to make room for me to open it. I looked at Will. "Er, I don't have a key. I was hoping you could, you know..." I waved my hand vaguely.

"You want me to pick it, miss?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"I say, you can do that?" Henry stepped forward. "Can I watch?"

"Course, mate." Will set the basket down and drew something very small and thin from his pocket. He gently inserted the pick into the lock and poked around. Henry bent over so he could get a closer look, his nose practically resting on the doorknob. We all waited, holding our breath, until there was a faint click. "Got it," Will said. Then he opened the door and we all went inside.