Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE The Grand Opening

IT WAS ALL HANDS ON DECK beginning early Friday morning. Father had us up and out of the house at the crack of dawn with hardly a moment spared for bolting down some toast.

It was a long, painful day, which I spent feeling as if I were tiptoeing across hot coals. Not only were all the adults frantic with last-minute details, but I was utterly consumed by my upcoming appointment with Sopcoate.

Father was barking, Mum was soothing, Weems was prancing, and Fagenbush skulked silently. Stilton was a twitching, flinching, shuddering wreck. I tried to get him alone on three different occasions that morning, but he evaded me each time.

Henry was heartily sick of all of us and had retired to the family room with yet another book. Even Isis grew impatient with me when I tried to pet her and ended up squeezing just a bit too tightly. She gave a yowl of protest and left.

I finally decided to make myself useful by going to the reading room and researching the curse on the Sekhmet statue. I also wanted to see if I could find a mention of a temple dedicated to Thutmose III. I had no luck with either of those but did manage to stay out of everyone's way until it was time to get dressed for the reception.

At ten minutes to four, Father tracked me and Henry down in the family withdrawing room; we had both changed into our Sunday best. Father looked quite dashing himself in his frock coat. "Both of you stay out from underfoot now," he reminded us. "And for heaven's sake, don't create a scene." He gave me a pointed look before heading back to the foyer.

At four o'clock on the dot, the small string quartet struck up the first note, a long vibrant sound that echoed throughout the entire museum. The show had begun.

Without a word between us, Henry and I took up positions on the second-floor balcony overlooking the foyer where we could watch the entire goings-on.

Vicary Weems stood at the front door (the idiot man was even wearing his ridiculous spats!) and checked people's invitations before he allowed them inside. Honestly! He was as bad as that librarian at the British Museum.

His face had been scrubbed even shinier than normal, and his hair was pasted so smooth and flat it looked as if someone had taken shoe polish to his head. His ears, however, still stuck out rather jauntily, as if they were determined to listen in on every conversation that took place that evening.

It was hard to be a dandy with ears like that.

The board members were among the first to arrive, all looking quite posh in their frock coats and striped trousers. Grandmother arrived shortly thereafter and immediately asked for me.

Henry smirked, and I gently elbowed him in the ribs before getting to my feet. I brushed off my knees and motioned frantically for Henry to come with me as I made my way to our waiting grandmother.

I dodged a server balancing a tray of champagne flutes and nearly trod on Grandmother's silk slipper. I braced myself for a scolding, but she simply said, "There you are. Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Henry and I are doing our best to stay out of the way, Grandmother," I explained. "I think I've had enough of parties for quite a while, thank you."

She looked at me sharply to see if I was being fresh. When she was satisfied I wasn't, she gave a brief nod. "Excellent. It's nice to see you beginning to develop some sense, even if your parents aren't."

It took enormous effort to bite back a retort, but I managed it, then quickly retreated to our hidey-hole before I could change my mind. Henry joined me a moment later, only he'd had the good sense to pilfer a number of canapés. He further surprised me by offering to share them.

"Thank you," I said. Even though there was no room in my stomach for food—it was too full of nervous butterflies—I took two, not wanting him to think I was ungrateful. Besides, it could be a long night and it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of sustenance. Even prisoners awaiting their death sentences received a last meal. Surely I was entitled. Although I doubted very much that two canapés counted as a full meal.

I nearly choked on the second canapé, however, when I saw Wigmere's regal figure arrive. He was the head of the Antiquarian Society, so it made sense that he would be here; nonetheless, the sight of him was like a stab to my heart. I was very glad I was hidden from his view, since I was not sure I could bear seeing him face to face. I suddenly decided it would be wise to leave early.

But I had one last thing to do. I motioned Henry closer.

He widened his eyes a bit. "Now what?"

Then I told him of my plans. All of them. I did it for a number of reasons: I wanted desperately to repair the trust between us; I missed that and wanted it back. Also, in spite of my best efforts, Henry had now experienced the very worst sort of Egyptian magic, and there was no point in trying to keep it a secret from him anymore. And as Awi Bubu had said, half knowledge could be dangerous. And last: "I think it would be better if you didn't come, Henry. I'd like someone to stay behind, a person who can tell others what has happened if"—I swallowed—"if something goes awry."

Henry looked relieved, then embarrassed. He glanced down at his highly polished boots, which he was scuffing against the floor. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you," he mumbled.

"Oh, Henry! I so wish you'd never had a reason to believe me. It was my hope to keep you, along with the others, safe from all this."

"I know, which makes me feel even more wretched that I made fun of you. You're not playing a game, are you? It's all real, isn't it?" He looked at me, his eyes still hopeful that I was just playing.

"Yes, Henry. It's all real."

He was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "Do you have any more of those amulet things?"

"Of course." I took the gold wedjat eye that Wigmere had given me—my most powerful amulet—and slipped it around Henry's neck.

He looked down at it before tucking it into his shirt, out of sight. "Thanks," he said, staring at the balcony in front of him as if it were the most fascinating thing on earth. "I don't think I'm like you, Theo. I'm not brave about things I can't see."

My chest ached a bit, and my eyes grew damp. "You're brave in other ways, Henry. Do you mind very much staying behind tonight? To bring in a cavalry charge if I'm not back in a few hours?"

Again, a relieved look passed across his face. "I'd be glad to," he said, with an extra bit of emphasis on glad.

"Excellent. I'll be meeting Awi Bubu at Cleopatra's Needle at five. If I'm not back by six-thirty, I guess you'll have to go ahead and tell Mother and Father I've gone missing."

"But you'll be back long before then, won't you, Theo?" His bright blue eyes (so unlike mine) pleaded for reassurance.

"I plan to be, Henry." I reached out and ruffled his hair, just like Father had a hundred times before, and was surprised at how silky it was. "See you in a bit, then," I said, and slipped down the hallway to my closet.

I retrieved the tablet and the orb from their hiding place, put them in my satchel, and made my way to the west entrance.

The grand opening had been planned for late afternoon in order to take advantage of the daylight to show the exhibit at its best. Unfortunately, there wasn't much daylight. The fog had come in thick and dirty and foul—even so, I felt utterly exposed leaving the museum, as if even the wind had eyes that were watching me.

Of course, according to Awi Bubu, the wind did have ears and reported to others, so it wasn't as if I were being all that fanciful. I gripped the satchel even tighter and clutched the Blood of Isis amulet so firmly that one of the edges poked clear through my glove.

It was taking my life in my hands, trying to cross New Oxford Street at this hour and in this weather. No one could see a thing, and half the drivers had gotten out of their carriages and were leading their horses along so as not to risk driving them straight into another carriage or, worse, an omnibus or motorcar. Fog does strange things to sound, so that wasn't a reliable guide either.

Once across Oxford Street, I kept my steps brisk and purposeful. The fog was even thicker over there, which did quite a lot to hide the dilapidated buildings and their distressed occupants, but it was quite spooky knowing they were there, just hidden in the fog. I think I'd rather have been able to see them.

When I turned down Garrick Street, I heard a sound that chilled my blood: footsteps echoing behind me. Would Sopcoate make his move for the tablet before I reached the meeting place? I clutched the satchel handle even more firmly, pausing only long enough to tell if the footsteps would pause as well. If they did, it was a clear sign I was being followed.

I waited, and the muffled footsteps slowed to a standstill. The sharp tang of fear tingled on the back of my tongue. I resumed walking at an even faster clip. I had to reach the meeting place before Chaos caught up to me.

Or was it Trawley and his scorpions? Stilton had been very busy at the reception, and I had told him nothing of my plans. I tried to comfort myself by remembering that Awi Bubu was counting on the scorpions following me. That was part of our plan.

I just wished the plan weren't so nerve-racking. I longed to break into a run and hurry to the Embankment, but it was so foggy, I was afraid I'd lose my way.

My nerves were strung tighter than a harp. I did my best to ignore the steps behind me and tried to peer through the pea soup to locate the next street. Coming up from behind me, a shape loomed out of the fog on my left. I started to run, but it grabbed my arm.