R. L. Lafevers Read online

  “You’re off your nut,” he said. “Forget about school, Father needs to send you directly to Bedlam.”

  I whirled around and scowled at him. “Take that back! Right now! Take it back, I say!”

  Stunned, he just stared at me.

  I clenched my fists and took a step toward him. “I’m warning you, Henry. I’m deadly serious. Take that back now or I’ll—”

  “All right already! I take it back. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  I glared at him. “You’re not helping.” I turned away from him and stepped fully into the Egyptian Funerary Magic room. It was morning, so the presence of the long-dead spirits was subdued. Maybe that was it. Were they too subdued?

  I gave one last look around the room. Everything here seemed perfectly normal. Well, as normal as the Egyptian exhibits ever got.

  We left the room and headed toward the armory. Occasionally a bespelled sword found its way into the museum. Maybe I’d missed one and the sensation was coming from there.

  Henry and I walked among the tall glass display cases that held spears, swords, and battle axes from every historical battle ever fought. Or so it seemed. It didn’t take long before Henry became completely absorbed in all the weaponry in the room and I was able to conduct my examination without any interruptions. As I walked among the full-size suits of armor posted around the room like so many silent guards, I felt nothing. No sign of what was wrong with the museum and no sign of Isis either.

  Fighting off a feeling of discouragement, I chewed my bottom lip and tried to think what to do next.

  But of course! Our next stop would be Edgar Stilton’s office. If something were truly off, he would be feeling it as well. It was early and he was likely the only assistant curator who had made it in so far.

  When I tapped on his door, Stilton called, “Come in,” his voice cracking horribly on the “in” part, which caused him to turn bright red.

  “Good morning, Stilton,” I said.

  “Hullo, Theo. And Henry! Welcome home from school.” He let loose with a whopping big sneeze, then fumbled for his handkerchief.

  “Thanks,” said Henry, stepping back a pace or two.

  “Have you got a cold, Stilton?” I asked.

  He dabbed his honker with his handkerchief. “No,” he said. “It only just started this morning when I got here. Must be the dust or something.”

  Aha! I knew it. Something unusual was afoot!

  We said our goodbyes and then, reluctantly, I headed for the short-term storage area downstairs, where we had unloaded Mum’s discovery last week. Wanting to avoid the nasty swarm of curses the artifacts were carrying, I’d put it off as long as possible.

  “What’s down here?” Henry asked, nearly treading on my heels.

  “Mum’s latest discoveries. You’ll like this one, Henry. It’s got loads of weapons.”

  His face brightened at this news and he stopped dragging his feet.

  There was no one in short-term storage when we arrived, so I parked Henry in front of a box of evil-looking shabtis and set to work.

  The sense of malevolence coming from the cursed artifacts was exactly the same as before Christmas, so I ignored them and began examining the contents of the other crates to see if anything was missing. The steles were there, and the revolting ceremonial dagger. I rifled through another crate and found a pile of scarabs that had a distinctly malicious feel to them, but it wasn’t strong enough to account for the whole museum being off.

  Four new crates sat nearby, but they hadn’t even been opened yet. When I looked up from the boxes, I saw Henry had taken a dozen shabtis out of their crate and had set them up along the floor as if they were tin soldiers.

  “Henry,” I hissed. “They’re not toys! They’re four-thousand-year-old artifacts. Now put them back.” I glanced down at the clay figures. With my heart beating faster, I slowly picked one up.

  “Hey! You just ruined my troop formation!” Henry protested.

  Ignoring him, I studied the figure in my hand. It had changed. The features were sharper, clearer. The expressions more harsh.

  But no. That was impossible, surely. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Was the uneasy sensation I had coming from these shabtis?

  I waited a second and felt … nothing. No. Whatever strange things were going on with these clay soldiers, it wasn’t what I had sensed when I came in this morning. Although, that now meant there were two things I had to investigate.

  “Okay, Henry,” I said as I put the shabti back in the crate. “Put those away. Our next stop is the catacombs.”

  “Oh, give off,” Henry said uneasily. “They aren’t really catacombs.”

  “If you say so,” I said, heading for the door.

  “They’re not,” he insisted, hurrying to catch up to me. “It’s just a bunch of old stuff down in the basement. Stuff Dad’s not using.”

  Henry was right. They aren’t really catacombs, but long-term storage for things we’re not currently using in the exhibits. But they are very creepy. All sorts of dead things, mummies and coffins and ancient skeletons of who-knows-what lurking twenty feet underground. Sounds like catacombs to me.

  I opened the door, shuddering as a thick blast of icy cold stale air hit me. It smelled dank and musty and…”Okay. Nothing’s been disturbed down there.” I turned around and bumped smack into Henry, who was trying to peer over my shoulder down into the depths of the stairway.

  “How can you tell?” he wanted to know.

  “I just can, that’s all.” I could tell by the feel of the air, dank and heavy, with no fresh eddies or swirls cutting through its depths for months. The whole place had the feel of a sleeping beast that hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

  I didn’t want to be the first one to do so. And certainly not without more protection than I had on me at the moment.

  “Tea,” I announced, putting as much cheer into my voice as possible.

  “There’s no tea down there,” Henry said, still peering into the dark passageway.

  “Of course there’s not.” I shut the door, narrowly missing his nose. “But it’s time to take Mother and Father their tea,” I said firmly.

  Henry shrugged and followed along, saying he hoped I’d make him some as well.

  And they say he has no imagination!

  ***

  As I started the midmorning tea, I wondered if all the unsettledness in the museum could be Isis. Setting out the mugs, I shook my head. That’s not what it felt like. It felt more sinister than that. Although, Isis was quite sinister enough, come to think of it.

  After I buttered up my parents by taking them their tea, I started in on Mum, insisting she inventory all the things she’d brought back. Maybe something in one of the unopened crates was causing this sensation. Finally, in complete exasperation, she caved. “But only because it must be done anyway, Theodosia. Not because of this melodrama you’re inventing.”

  Doesn’t she realize I have enough work to do around here without making things up?

  We’d been down in short-term storage for almost an hour when Henry came thumping loudly down the stairs.

  “What was that again, Mum? I couldn’t hear you because somebody was making too much racket.”

  “This crate has six steles, each with war scenes on it,” she repeated.

  I made a note in the ledger in front of me. “Next?”

  “Mum,” Henry interrupted. “Dad says you’re to come at once. That blasted old fool Snowthorpe’s here.”

  “Henry!”

  Henry shrugged. “Sorry. Those were his exact words.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Mother got to her feet and brushed off her skirts. “What does he want, I wonder?”

  Lord Snowthorpe is some muckety-muck high up at the British Museum whom Father used to work for. None of us like him much, especially Father. He’s a greasy fellow, and whenever he pays us a visit, Father falls into one of his moods for at least two days.

  I thought bri
efly of staying and continuing on with the inventory without Mother, but sometimes interesting things happen when Snowthorpe’s about. I decided to follow her. I turned to Henry. “You coming?”

  “Nah. I think I’ll stay down here.”

  I saw the keen way he stared at the exposed weapons we’d just inventoried. “Come on,” I urged. “You can’t be down here alone.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. Now come along. We’ll spy on Snowthorpe, if it makes you feel any better.”

  His face brightened at this and he followed me up the stairs, sounding like a herd of hippopotami the whole way. How does he think to spy if he can’t keep quiet?

  When we reached the top of the stairs, I put my hand back to shush him. Lord Snowthorpe was leaning against one of the marble columns in the foyer, tapping his cane impatiently against the floor. Mother and Father were nowhere to be seen. Must be bracing themselves.

  Snowthorpe’s a tall man with a hooked nose and a very red face, as if he’d stayed out in the sun too long. He’s got a tremendously round belly that he can barely manage to stuff into his coat and a superior air about him that would choke a pharaoh.

  Just as I wondered if Mother and Father were making him wait on purpose, I heard a faint hiss from above. I looked up to find Isis poised in a crouch at the top of the balcony under which Snowthorpe stood.

  Before I could do anything, she screeched, sounding more like a panther at the zoo than a cat, and flew at Lord Snowthorpe.

  As her sharp claws dug into his shoulders, he gave a mighty bellow and tried to reach around and snatch her off his back.

  While I ran forward to rescue Isis, Henry sniggered.

  At Snowthorpe’s shout, Mother and Father came running, and soon it was true pandemonium as we all tried to pry Isis from Snowthorpe’s back without ripping his morning coat or hurting Isis. Although the way Father was going on, I suspect I was the only one worried about Isis.

  Finally, Father got the cat untangled from the coat and shoved her at me. “Take this accursed cat, Theodosia, and get her out of here. Now!”

  Isis struggled in my arms, whirling like a dervish, trying to escape. With one excellently placed swipe of her claws, she leaped from my arms and ricocheted back into the bowels of the museum.

  Everyone was going on as if Snowthorpe had nearly been murdered and scowling at me like it was all my fault!

  After everyone fussed over Snowthorpe a bit, he finally got down to business, looking significantly less jolly than when he’d first come in.

  “I say, Throckmorton. The reason I’ve come down here is because I’d heard you’d found Thutmose Ill’s Heart of Egypt. Been waiting all my life to see one of those, and I thought you might appreciate the chance to show it off.”

  The minute he said “Heart of Egypt” I knew. That’s what was missing. Of course!

  Mother was dying to show off her newest find and toddled off to fetch it.

  I followed her, leaving Henry to spy solo. The two men would only sip tea and murmur stupid things about the weather. Surely, even Henry could manage that.

  When I caught up to Mother she glanced over at me. “You’re going to have to do something about that cat of yours, darling. She’s gone feral on you.”

  “Not feral, Mum. Demonic, more like,” I said under my breath.

  As I followed Mum, it occurred to me that I had no idea where they’d hidden the Heart of Egypt. At last she reached the upstairs workroom and went to the far back wall and moved a section of books from the second shelf. There was an old tapestry hanging on the wall behind it (Late Medieval period). What an odd spot for a tapestry!

  Mother pushed it aside and revealed a small safe.

  Honestly! No one tells me anything.

  I stood on tiptoe and tried to look over her shoulder as she spun through the combination, but she was too quick for me. She swung open the safe door and revealed a much larger chamber inside, containing all sorts of bulky wrapped objects. What else were they keeping in there that I didn’t know about?

  She reached in and found the velvet wrapping that had covered the Heart of Egypt and pulled it out of the safe. Carefully, she unwrapped it. When she lifted the last of the velvet away, we found ourselves staring at a dull black object.

  It was not the Heart of Egypt.

  Gone Missing

  “IT’S GONE!” MOTHER GASPED, then whirled around to face me.

  The thing in her hand was shaped like a real heart and made of blackest black. On the front of it, a coiled serpent—Apep—was painted in gold leaf.

  “Whatever shall I tell Snowthorpe?” Mum cried. “Oh, whatever shall I tell your father?” she asked with true distress in her voice. She shoved the black heart at me, then turned back to the wall to lock up the safe. As my hand closed around the artifact, I braced myself, expecting to feel curses rolling off it in waves.

  But there was nothing.

  I studied the cold black stone, then leaned closer to sniff it. No trace of sulfur. I rubbed one of my fingers along the surface, but there was no oily residue. I set the stone heart on one of the shelves, near the back, where hopefully no one else would see it before I had a chance to conduct a few more tests.

  Mum finished locking up the safe, then headed for the door. “We can’t tell Snowthorpe it’s missing. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of thinking us amateurs.”

  “Mum?” I asked as I followed her out of the room.

  “What is it, Theodosia?” she asked impatiently.

  “Did you tell Snowthorpe about the Heart of Egypt? I mean, how did he know about it? You’ve only been back a few days.”

  Still puzzling out what to tell everyone, Mum waved her hand in the air. “I didn’t announce the find, if that’s what you mean. But I did have to declare it to get it out of the country.”

  “Yes, but did you declare it to Snowthorpe?”

  “Of course not, Theo. I imagine someone he knew got wind of it.”

  Perhaps, but who would that someone be? And how would they have learned about it so quickly? Mother had it carefully hidden on her person during the whole trip. She hadn’t even wired Father to let him know she was bringing it home.

  Something about this wasn’t quite right.

  As we reached the anteroom, I could hear Snowthorpe’s voice coming from within and could almost feel Father sending out mental SOS signals.

  “What are you going to tell them?” I whispered.

  “Don’t worry. I have it under control,” Mum said.

  That didn’t comfort me as much as she thought it would.

  Mother straightened her spine, smoothed her skirts, and plastered a cheerful smile on her face (which looked more like a grimace) and marched through the door. I followed in her wake, not wanting to miss this one.

  “There you are, ladies,” Snowthorpe nearly bellowed. “I’d thought perhaps you’d got lost.” He chuckled at his own feeble cleverness.

  “Not at all, Snowthorpe,” Mum replied, rather harshly.

  He clapped his big hands together. “Well, let’s see it, then.”

  “Yes, well.” Mother cleared her throat. “I’m afraid you’ve chosen a particularly bad time, Snowthorpe. It’s being cleaned at the moment.”

  The man frowned. “Cleaned? Well, I don’t mind seeing it in progress, as it were.”

  Mum glanced desperately at Father. He knew at once something was wrong, even if he hadn’t caught on to exactly what yet.

  I jumped into the fray. “It’s a very delicate process. Er, due to the condition of the piece.” I used my most knowledgeable voice, the one Father calls my Miss Bossy voice.

  Mother leaped onto my reasoning like a cat pouncing after a mouse. “Yes! That’s it. The cleaning process on a piece like this is very complex, as you can imagine.” Mum went over and took Snowthorpe’s arm and began gently steering him toward the door. “Once it’s ready, you’ll be the first we show it to.”

  Her voice faded away as she led him down the hall.


  “Theodosia?” Father’s sharp voice cracked through the room. “What’s going on?”

  “The Heart of Egypt’s gone missing, that’s what’s going on.”

  As soon as Mum came back, she and Father disappeared into Father’s office and closed the door. I could hear them talking in clipped, urgent tones. In minutes, they would no doubt begin tearing the museum apart, looking for it.

  I didn’t think they’d find it.

  It was just too odd a coincidence that Snowthorpe should show up on the very morning we learned the Heart of Egypt was missing. I mean, how did he even know it was here?

  Snowthorpe was our only clue as to who else might have known about the artifact—someone had told him it was here. And before we could figure out who had taken it, we had to discover who else had known about it. If I got the Heart of Egypt back for my parents, surely that would impress them. Then they’d see what a huge help I could be, if only they’d let me.

  ***

  I grabbed my things and slipped out the front door after Snowthorpe. I ignored the dark gray clouds that were lazily spitting down rain and hurried after him. Spotting the fluttering of his coattails as he turned the corner, I quickened my pace.

  After several blocks, we reached the British Museum. I hurried up the stairs and followed Snowthorpe into the marble foyer filled with elaborate buttresses, gothic arches, and an enormous diplodocus skeleton. (I half hated the museum for how much grander it was than ours.) As I forced my gaze away from the display, I caught sight of Snowthorpe turning down a hall on the left.

  Of course, even the hallway was grand here. It had lush carpet and deep, rich paneling, and mahogany doors with shiny brass nameplates. As Snowthorpe paused to talk to a man in the hallway, I quickly spun away and pretended to study one of the nameplates. I didn’t want Snowthorpe to see me. Besides, a young girl viewing the museum’s collection was explainable, but a young girl hanging about the offices was not.