Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

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.