Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris

CHAPTER THREE Anubis Rising

FATHER SPENT ALL OF BREAKFAST glowering at me over his newspaper. It's surprising how being scowled at chases one's appetite clean away. I mostly picked at my toast.

Finally, he finished his eggs and kippers and put his paper down on the table with an angry rattle of the pages. "I've half a mind to leave you home today, Theodosia," he announced.

His words stopped me cold. He didn't really mean it, did he? He hadn't left me at home for years. "B-but Father ... if I'd known it was going to cause this much trouble, I would have kept quiet. It was just so clearly a fake. And," I said in a very small voice, "I just wanted to make you proud of me." I should have known by now that trying to impress Father never went as planned. Usually my efforts ended up being ignored, but now it appeared I'd graduated to inciting a near riot. I risked a glance at him just in time to see him exchange a look with Mother. With relief, I saw his expression soften.

"I do admire your ability to detect a fake, Theodosia. No emperor's new clothes for you, no matter how many others who should have known better were duped." He broke into a broad grin. "A true chip off the old block."

Mother cleared her throat.

"Yes, well, you need to learn there is a time and place to announce your findings," Father continued. "And in a way that doesn't shoot other people's conclusions down like a clay pigeon."

What rot! He never took others' feelings into consideration when pointing out the flaws in their theories. However, I knew when not to argue. "I'm sorry, Father. I'll have to pay more attention and see how you do it next time."

He looked surprised. "Very well. Still, I do think it's good that your grandmother is finding a new governess for you. I didn't realize how long the other one had been gone. You need more structure and direction in your studies."

Well, of course I'd love some guidance in my studies! The only problem was, I'd had to help my last governess keep up with me, which wasn't exactly the sort of help I needed.

I looked down at the napkin in my lap and began plucking at one of the corners. "I had hoped, now that Mum was home again, you and she would have time to direct my studies." I looked up in time to see them exchange another glance across the table.

"It wouldn't take much time at all," I rushed to add. "I'm a very independent worker and need only a little direction."

There was a long, horrid silence before Mum finally spoke, her voice gentle. "I'm sorry, Theodosia. We couldn't possibly, not with the new items from the dig. There's so very much to do, what with preparing the artifacts and analyzing what they mean. We will be busy round the clock."

I swallowed my disappointment, reminding myself it had been a long shot. "please don't leave me at home today, Father. I do promise to be good."

"Hm. Better than that, I've come up with a project for you. A way for you to be helpful and not just get in the way."

I perked up at that. Doing something useful at the museum was what I longed to do, after all.

"I've decided to put you in charge of cataloging all the mishmash down in long-term storage. It desperately needs to be done, and it should keep you out of trouble for days."

I tried to keep the horror off my face. "Long-term storage, Father? As in, downstairs in the museum's basement?"

He scowled. "Yes. I clearly said long-term storage, did I not, Henrietta?" He looked to Mother for confirmation. She nodded, and he turned back to me. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No! I just thought perhaps you needed my help cataloging the things from Amenemhab's tomb. We're not all finished with that yet, are we?"

"No, but I've got that well in hand," Father said. "Besides, I won't be working on that this morning. I've got an interview with a candidate for the First Assistant Curator position. Now, is there a problem with the task you've been given?"

"No, Father," I lied. perhaps I should have been content staying home after all. Surely it was better than venturing down into the catacombs.

For the first time ever, I found myself wishing my beastly younger brother, Henry, were home from school. If he had been, I would have made him come with me.

Henry claims the basement isn't really a catacomb, and I suppose he's right. Technically. It is, however, a large cavernous room full of old dead bodies (mummies, mostly) and items taken from their graves. Eerily similar to catacombs, if you ask me.

But the worst part is, whenever I open the door that leads to the crypt, it feels as if there is some malevolent force waiting silently in the darkness below. I'm sure it's just the various curses and black magic that have accumulated over the years, but the air feels thick, almost alive with the power of it all.

Terrifying stuff, that. So I made sure I had on all three of my amulets as well as a pair of sturdy gloves. My cat, Isis, paused at the head of the stairs, sniffed at the cold, dank air, then meowed plaintively.

That wasn't a good sign.

However, there was nothing else to do. Scuffling my feet loudly so I wouldn't startle any entities down there, I descended the steps. I clutched my curse-removal kit with one hand (one can never be too careful!) and the banister with the other, as if it were a lifeline that would keep me anchored to a way out of this pit.

Come to think of it, that was exactly what it was.

The feeble gaslight barely penetrated the thick, rancid gloom. I shivered violently, unsure if it was the dank chill of the murky depths or something more sinister....

That was one of the things that was so unnerving about the catacombs. There were so many ancient artifacts jumbled so closely together. None of them had been near moonlight or sunlight or ka—life force—for years. Whatever curses and spells they possessed lay deeply dormant—which meant I had no way of sensing them. It felt like a horrid game of blindman's bluff.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs. Isis lurked near my feet and together we faced the looming, squatting shapes before us.

It was even worse than I had remembered. There was a huge stone sarcophagus that took up most of the right side of the room, it's heavy stone lid slightly askew. Seven mummies stood propped up against the wall just behind the sarcophagus. Their painted eyes seemed to follow me. In the far deep corner opposite the mummies lurked an enormous life-size wooden hippopotamus. It was coated with peeling black resin, which gave it a rotted, threatening appearance. As did the leering mouth filled with large square teeth.

It was clearly an Underworld demon of some importance.

I quickly scanned the other side of the room. The faint gaslight glinted dully off three bronze statues—one of Apis the Bull (Late Period, I believe), the falcon-headed Soul of Buto, and a lioness-headed statue of Sekhmet, the goddess of the destructive power of the sun. Funerary masks of long-forgotten pharaohs and ancient priests lined a shelf against the wall, and dozens upon dozens of Canopic jars were crowded together on the shelf below. Clay urns and bronze vessels sat next to stone daggers and knives with flint blades. A large Canopic shrine of gilded wood sat in the middle of the room, on top of which rested a large life-size statue of Anubis in his jackal form. Every available inch of the storeroom was covered with steles and scarabs and amulets and jewelry. It would take months to catalog all this!

I cast one last longing glance up the stairs, then pulled the notebook and pencil Father had given me from the pocket of my pinafore.

I decided it would be best if I started out with the seven mummies covering the far wall. For one, being able to cross an entire wall of artifacts off my list would make me feel as if I was making good progress. And two, if I had to spend days with my back to a bunch of mummies, I'd prefer to know exactly whom I was dealing with.

I took one look at the mummy nestled up against the corner, and my pulse began to race with excitement. It was from the Old Period, Third Dynasty, most likely. One of the oldest mummies I'd ever seen. I peered at the old spidery handwriting on a small tag inserted among the bandages. It was written in English, but it wasn't Father's handwriting. Perhaps this mummy had been acquired long before he'd arrived.

The tag identified the mummy as Rahotep, a powerful priest during Djoser's reign. It was in such excellent condition, I couldn't understand why it was down here in the catacombs instead of on display. I'd have to remember to ask Father about that.

The next mummy stood in a painted wooden case with a lid that had been removed. The mummy itself was still wrapped in it's linen shroud (fully intact) and reinforced with linen strips. It was clearly from the Late New Period. I gingerly grasped the small wooden tag around it's neck and squinted to read the faded Egyptian. The tag had been placed by the embalmer and claimed this mummy was Herihor, who had been an official of some sort under Osorkon the Elder.

The next two mummies were from the Middle Kingdom: Ankhetitat, a princess; and Kawit, a royal companion of the pharaoh Khendjer. Both were in relatively good condition, but weren't spectacular finds like Rahotep.

The next mummy was a bit of a puzzle. I could narrow him down to the Late Period, but the wooden case had been coated in wax of some sort, which hid most of the markings. Deciding I wasn't expected to identify it, I simply marked it down as Unknown Mummy, possibly Late Period.

The last mummies were also from the Late New Period: Sitkamose, a priestess of Horus; and Isetnofret, a priestess during Nectanebo's reign. Seven total.

After I made the last notation on my paper, I reached up to stretch.

There was a faint rustle behind me. I whipped my head around. "Isis?"

But it wasn't she who had made the noise. She stood frozen in her spot, back arched, staring at the statue of Anubis.

Which yawned.

Or maybe it was more of a stretching of his jaws. Either way, it wasn't something a statue ought to do.

Worried, I stepped forward for a better look, then jumped back as the jackal shook himself, like a dog awakening from a nap.

This was bad. Very bad.

I looked into the statue's eyes and he looked back at me, his hackles rising. He growled.

The growl ran along my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in it's wake. Isis, who wasn't used to hearing dog noises in her domain, hissed loudly.

The jackal swung his head in her direction, recognized immediately that she was a cat, then leaped off the shrine toward her.

Oh no!

Isis yowled and darted into the small space between the wall and the sarcophagus, and the jackal skidded to a stop. Frustrated, he tried to squeeze in after her, but he was too big.

I had to do something, and quick! But what? Of course, the solution rather depended on what had caused him to spring to life in the first place, and I had no idea. Was it exposure to the light? To my ka, or life force? Oh, what to do, what to do?

I glanced around the room, hoping for some rope to tie him up with or even a cloth I could use to try and cover him. If it was light or life force that had activated him, perhaps turning him off would be as simple as putting a barrier between him and the light.

But there was nothing usable nearby. "Hold on, Isis," I called out encouragingly. "I'll be right back!"

I galloped up the stairs, pleased to find a number of thick, heavy coats hanging from the rack on the landing. I grabbed the longest, thickest one and tore back down the stairs, dragging the coat behind me.

The jackal still had Isis cornered between the wall and the sarcophagus. Moving as quietly as I could, I snuck up behind him, then threw the coat over him, trying to cover his entire body without getting too close to his snapping jaws.

He froze.

Was he wondering what had happened to him? Or had I managed to reverse whatever magic had brought him to life?

I searched the shelving in front of me, looking for some kind of weapon or something I could use to keep him at bay. My eyes fell on a long, bent staff on the shelf. Perfect. I reached out and grabbed it. As I grasped the top end, I noticed it had a jackal head fashioned in gold. This could be a good sign. The ancient Egyptians thought it most effective to fight a force with a similar force, rather like fighting fire with fire. So using a jackal head against a jackal just might work.

Reaching out cautiously with the end of the staff, I lifted a corner of the coat, exposing the jackal's left haunch. It was perfectly still. I squinted. It was hard to tell in the murky gloom, but it didn't look as if he'd turned back to stone. Then his haunch twitched and his foot moved. I jerked the staff back, dropping the coat, and he was still again.

Well, no matter what had awakened him, it seemed that covering him up would take care of it. At least long enough for me to think of something more permanent.

"Isis?" I called softly. "You can come out now if you like."

After a long moment she finally poked her whiskers out from behind the sarcophagus. She paused, studying the overcoat for a long while. Deciding it was safe, she began to emerge from her hiding spot. The overcoat twitched, and she disappeared back into her corner.

Bother. The overcoat wasn't going to hold as strongly as I'd hoped. Which gave me about two minutes to come up with a more lasting solution.

I hurried over to my curse-removal kit and rummaged about. My hand bumped into a plump, squashy bag. Of course! The salt I'd kept there ever since last year when a small statue of the frog-headed god Kuk had sported a curse involving a rain of slugs. Although, for the record, I try very hard not to use salt on the artifacts in the museum. Salt is horribly corrosive, and I like to be extremely careful with the museum's treasures.

The overcoat twitched again.

But sometimes during an emergency one had to settle for whatever was at hand. I didn't have time to do any research on this curse to discover the safest way to remove it without damaging the statue. My time was up.

I grabbed a handful of salt in my left hand, then moved back to the overcoat. It was beginning to wriggle now, which meant it wasn't the light that had activated the curse. More likely my life force.

Holding the staff in my right hand, I hooked the end of it under the overcoat, then yanked, exposing the jackal. Momentarily disoriented at being suddenly uncovered, he blinked, which gave me time to toss the handful of salt at him.

It caught him full along the side, and he reared away from the sarcophagus, shaking his head as if stunned. Before I could follow up with a second assault, Isis yowled and shot out from between the gap, racing toward the opposite end of the room. The jackal yipped once, shook off the effects of the salt, then followed. Or tried to. His claws scrabbled against the polished wooden floor, looking for traction, which he finally found and raced after Isis.

The salt had almost worked! It had slowed him down, anyway. Maybe I should have aimed for a more vulnerable part of his body. I grabbed another handful and hurried over to plant myself directly in Isis's path. She darted past me, and when the jackal was in range, I flung the salt into his face.

He yelped and skidded to a stop. After a moment's pause, he shook it off again and headed straight for me. I lunged to the side as he tore past, intent on Isis.

There had to be a way to cover him with salt all at once! But how?

Isis leaped up onto the shrine where the Anubis statue had been sitting before it sprang to life and caromed off the wall behind it, knocking over one of the bronze vessels.

That was it—water! I could dump the salt into the water and then pour it over the jackal, who was now trying to jump up onto the shrine after Isis. Luckily, it was too tall, and my cat was safe. For the moment, anyway.

With the bronze vessel clutched in my hand, I raced up the stairs, then headed down the hall toward the lavatory. I had just reached the door when Father called out. "Theodosia?"

I tried to hide the bronze vessel behind me while looking as innocent as possible. "Yes, Father? Dear?" I added for good effect.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't it be?" Did my voice sound unnaturally high? I couldn't tell.

"Well, you're carrying an artifact into the lavatory."

"Oh. That. I was just going to wash something sticky off it, that's all."

Father frowned. "You are being careful with museum property, aren't you?"

"Absolutely! See?" I held up my hands. "I even wear gloves to be sure I leave no smudges on anything."

"I say, good idea."

Of course, that's not why I wore gloves at all. I wore them because sometimes the black magic lingering on the artifacts tried to work it's way into me, and I'd really rather it didn't.

Satisfied, Father turned to go back down the hall. "Oh!" he said, stopping before he'd taken two steps. "Have you seen Fagenbush about?"

Fagenbush? Hardly. I spent quite a bit of energy trying to avoid our Second Assistant Curator whenever possible. "No, Father. Can't say as I have."

"Well, if you do, let him know I'm looking for him."

Was Fagenbush in trouble? One could always hope. But I didn't have time for such happy thoughts right then. As Father disappeared down the hall, I stepped into the lavatory, nearly dancing with impatience as I waited for the water to fill the vessel. Once it was full, I raced back to the stairs, praying I wouldn't run into Father or—worse—Fagenbush. As I reached the top step, Isis gave a bloodcurdling yeowl. Certain the jackal had her clamped in his jaws, I tore down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I found Anubis with his shoulders wedged between the wall and the sarcophagus, scrabbling madly for Isis, who was emitting low, deep warbles of fury.

Keeping one eye on the jackal, I dumped some of the salt into the water, then swirled the vessel around to mix it up.

The jackal yelped as Isis's claws made contact with his nose, but he didn't retreat. He bared his teeth at her and growled low in his throat.

Afraid to wait too much longer, I took three large strides toward the jackal, then dumped the water over his head, thoroughly drenching him.

The jackal snarled, then raised his muzzle to snap at me. But it was too late.

As the water trickled down his body, he began to harden, his live flesh turning back into hard stone piece by piece, until, with one last mournful yip, he was once again a statue.

My shoulders slumped in relief, and Isis stopped her caterwauling. Cautiously, she crept out from her hiding spot and drew closer to the frozen jackal. She sniffed at it, then gave it a vicious swipe with her paw. Take that, wretched statue, I thought as my heart quit trying to pound it's way out of my chest.

"Theodosia!" a voice called from the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Did I hear a dog down there?"

Bother! "Uh, no, Mother. Just me. Playing with Isis."

"By acting like a dog?" She sounded truly puzzled.

"Well, er, I was training her to defend herself. Against a dog."

"But we have no dogs in the museum."

"I know, but in case she should ever encounter one."

There was a long pause. Finally Mother called down again. "Theodosia?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"It would be best if you didn't mention that game to your father, all right, dear?"

"Whatever you say."

"Excellent. Now come along. Your grandmother's arrived with a new governess in tow." Mum's voice was falsely cheerful, as if she could jolly me into believing this was a good thing. "She's waiting in the sitting room, and I'm leaving right now for a meeting with the board of the Royal Archaeological Society. Your father's in his office. She's asked to see him, too."

"But Mother, do you have to go?" It was much safer to face Grandmother in large numbers.

"Yes, I really must. Duty calls. Goodbye, my darling!" Then there was the rapid click of her heels on the marble as she made her escape, no doubt from the back door where she could be sure to avoid Grandmother.

With a sigh of frustration, I replaced the vessel on the table and made a mental note to be sure to rinse the salt water out of it when I got back. I would also need to be sure to wash all the salt from the Anubis statue later. But for now, I had a grandmother to confront.

When I reached the top of the landing, I heard voices coming from Father's office. I thought Grandmother was in the sitting room, but perhaps she had gone into Father's office looking for us. I headed in that direction but quickly realized that although one of the voices was Father's, the other voice was most definitely not Grandmother's.

"But I have all the same qualifications that Bollingsworth had."

It was Fagenbush. And I must say, I'd never heard him sound so petulant.

"I know you're disappointed, Clive, but I think it's for the best," Father replied. "Bollingsworth had a few more years' experience than you do," he explained.

Bollingsworth. Just hearing that name made me shudder in revulsion. Father didn't know that the former First Assistant Curator had been a traitor. I wondered how much of Bollingsworth's experience had been gained while working for the Serpents of Chaos?

"You are very talented at what you do," Father continued. "But you are quite young still, and I think a few years' more polish and maturity will serve you well. Now, I must go. I have someone waiting." Father stepped out into the hall and spied me. "Oh, there you are! I was just coming to fetch you. Your grandmother is here."

"Yes. I know." Miserably uncomfortable, I stared at the floor and tried not to look at Fagenbush. But I could feel him staring sharp, pointy daggers at me, and almost against my will, I found myself looking up.

Pure hatred flashed in his eyes. There was no question—Fagenbush knew I'd overheard the whole thing. And he would never forgive me for it.