R. L. Lafevers Read online

  The two men finished speaking and went their separate ways, the unknown man raising his eyebrows when he spotted me in the doorway. I flashed him a quick smile, pointed toward Snowthorpe, muttered some nonsense, then hurried along.

  Snowthorpe turned into one of the offices and I stopped two doors away, straining to listen. It wasn’t too difficult. Not with the way Snowthorpe tended to shout whenever he spoke.

  “Well, Tetley,” Snowthorpe barked. “You were dead wrong. The Throckmortons don’t have the Heart of Egypt.”

  Aha! So it was this Tetley fellow who’d known about the artifact and blabbed to Snowthorpe.

  There was a murmured reply that I couldn’t quite hear. I glanced around, relieved to find the hallway empty, and inched closer.

  “No. No. I think they’re bluffing. Made up some story about it being cleaned. Next time check your sources better!”

  “Yes, sir. Very sorry about that, sir,” I heard Tetley say. Snowthorpe cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Carry on.”

  Panic raced through me as I realized the conversation was over and Snowthorpe would be stepping out of the office—and directly into me—any second. I looked around at the long hallway. There was no place to hide, except for the door in front of which I’d been standing. I pressed my ear up to the wood and heard nothing, no murmur of voices or rustle of paper.

  I had no choice. Ever so quietly I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. It was a storage closet of sorts. I stepped inside and pulled the door closed, careful that it not make too loud a click.

  I backed up and bumped into a bolt of rolled-up carpet. Discarded chairs and unused lamps were tucked in corners. Dusty old scholarly journals were stacked on the floor in towers nearly as tall as I was. Ignoring the clutter, I focused my attention on the hallway on the other side of the door and listened. Merely a second later, I heard, or felt, rather, Snowthorpe’s heavy tread as he retreated down the hall.

  That was close. How on earth would I have explained my presence to that know-it-all? And who was this Tetley fellow anyway? How had he heard about the Heart of Egypt?

  It seemed I had discovered nothing but more questions!

  I heard the soft click of a nearby door being closed. Once again I heard footsteps in the hall. “The old codger wasn’t supposed to go looking for it,” someone muttered as they passed the closet door.

  I waited a second or two, then quietly opened the door a crack. I looked to the right and saw that Tetley’s door was now closed. When I looked to the left, I saw a young man with a hat and cane walking briskly, as if he were heading out. Odds were that was Tetley.

  Interesting. As soon as he heard Snowthorpe report back on the absence of the Heart of Egypt, he had to leave the museum suddenly? Really, it was just too suspicious. Once again, I needed to follow.

  Following the Leader

  IT WAS MUCH EASIER FOLLOWING TETLEY. He’d never met me before and had no idea who I was, so it didn’t really matter if he spotted me.

  I strolled along behind him as he made his way down Great Russell Street, then turned left on Bloomsbury. We walked along that street for a couple of blocks until we came to Oxford Street, which presented a bit of a problem. First of all, it’s very busy road, and getting across it without being plowed into by a hansom, growler, or omnibus, or worse yet one of the new motorbuses, required quick thinking and even quicker feet. Second, Oxford Street was my boundary, the street past which I was not allowed to go without my parents. Ever.

  I would like to say my conscience caused me to at least pause before I stepped into the street and dashed across, but that would be lying. I valiantly forged ahead, visions of Mother’s and Father’s faces alight with joy as I presented them with the lost Heart of Egypt filling my head.

  Once we crossed Oxford Street, Tetley led me through a maze of dark streets and winding alleys that housed pubs, pie and chip shops, lodging houses, and pawnbrokers. The houses grew shabbier, the air thicker and danker with the black smoke and fog that hang above London like a nasty ghost. Forgotten laundry hung from the windows, now sodden with rain. Small bodies crouched in doorways and looked out at me with large, bleak eyes. Few of them had coats. Most huddled in old shawls that were little more than rags. I wished I had some pocket money on me so I could have shared it with them.

  Quite frankly, I was beginning to feel a little nervous. I’m sure this is why I’ve been told not to cross Oxford Street. I glanced ahead at Tetley and drew a little closer.

  He paused for a moment to consult his watch, then looked up and down the street. I bent over to fiddle with the button on my shoe. That’s when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me come to a sudden stop. A small greasy fear clutched my stomach.

  I forced myself to stand up and casually glanced over my shoulder. I saw no one, well, no one who looked as if they were following me. But then, they wouldn’t look as if they were following me, because they would be trying to hide it, now wouldn’t they?

  But wait. There was a set of rather nice clothes back there, being worn by a boy just a tad smaller than me. He had a cowlick like a single devil’s horn. “Henry!” A jolt of relief shot through me.

  Henry smiled at me—smiled, mind you! As if this were all a lark!—then pulled his hands out of his pockets and trotted toward me.

  Tetley began walking again. My fear of losing him was greater than my desire to bean Henry for scaring me half to death, so I turned to follow.

  “Wait! Theo!” Henry called after me in a harsh whisper.

  I whirled around. “Henry! You ninny! Don’t you know anything about spying? You cannot make noise like that when you’re following a person!”

  Henry caught up to me with a wide grin on his face. “But I followed you pretty good, didn’t I?”

  “Come on. We’re going to lose him.” He had done a good job of following me, but I wasn’t about to tell him and have it swell his already inflated head. However, I must confess to being glad of a traveling companion on these streets.

  “Why are you following him?” Henry asked.

  I stepped into the street, careful to keep my eye on Tetley. “Well, if you don’t know, then why are you following me?”

  He shrugged. “It was better than hanging around a moldy old museum.”

  “Our museum isn’t moldy,” I corrected.

  We paused at a junction that connected seven streets, each leading off like the spoke of a wheel. With a shock, I realized we were standing in the Seven Dials, one of the most notorious neighborhoods in all of London. I would be in a whole tubful of hot water if my parents ever found out. Hopefully, they’d be so thrilled at getting the Heart of Egypt back they’d forget all about it.

  Tetley stopped to look around, as if he were expecting someone to meet him. Henry whispered, “So, what is going on, Theo?”

  I wondered if I could trust him. He had risked an awful lot to follow me. And it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else know what was going on … in case things went wrong. “First you need to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  “I promise!”

  I quickly filled him in. When I’d finished, Henry whistled. “That is suspicious.”

  “Exactly. I’m certain he must know something about its disappearance.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Henry said.

  My chest swelled with pride. Perhaps my instincts had been right to trust him.

  Tetley took off again, and away we went. He turned down a side street where the houses went from shabby to downright grim. The dank, rat-infested streets were lined with listless, exhausted men and women. Dirty, hollow eyed children huddled at their feet. Their pinched faces and dull eyes were haunting. Henry moved closer to me and I took a deep breath to steady myself. My lungs filled with grimy London air that reeked of the Thames, which we seemed to be winding our way toward.

  “How long are we going to follow him?” Henry asked, uncertain.

  “I’m not sure.” I was wondering the same thing, trying to decide
how much farther I wanted to go in this part of town. But I didn’t want Henry to know I was uneasy. I was the oldest and it was my duty to present a bold front. Still, it did seem as if we were getting nowhere—at least, nowhere we’d want to be.

  And I didn’t want to get our throats slit in the process.

  “It looks as if he’s heading to the river. We’ll follow him there and if nothing’s happened by then, we’ll high-tail it back.” Only I’d choose an alternative route.

  Just then Tetley turned down a particularly filthy street that reeked of sewer. I nearly reached up to pinch my nose shut, but realized that might offend someone. This was not the sort of neighborhood you went around offending people in.

  “Breathe out of your mouth,” I advised Henry.

  “Don’t worry. I am,” he answered, his voice thick.

  I glanced nervously into the shadows that lurked near the houses, nearly fainting in fright when one of them detached itself and began walking in our direction. “Run!” I whispered urgently.

  A Cosh to the Head

  I DIDN’T NEED TO TELL HIM TWICE. We took off at the same time, not caring how close we got to Tetley. Hopefully, he had a wicked little blade hidden in his walking cane like Father did and could protect us all.

  I’m afraid our running was rather pitiful, and the heavy footsteps drew closer.

  I grabbed Henry’s arm. A church. We’d dash into one of the churches. I looked around desperately. For blocks and blocks there’d been a church on every corner. Now, when I needed one, all I could find were breweries and inns. Botheration!

  We’d nearly caught up to Tetley now. Surely that was the lesser of two evils? Even if he did have something to do with the stolen artifact, that wouldn’t make him the sort of fellow who’d refuse to help children, would it? Or would he just cut our throats and toss our bodies into the Thames?

  I decided to go with the villain I knew instead of the villain I didn’t. Just as I opened my mouth to call out to Tetley, I felt a cold, clawlike hand clamp down on my elbow.

  I nearly screamed. Would have if I hadn’t immediately recognized the assailant’s voice. “Wot you doin’ down ‘ere, miss?”

  “Sticky Will!” Relief, as warm and welcome as treacle syrup, coursed through me. “What are you doing here?”

  Henry leaned over to put his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.

  Will removed his hand from my elbow and shrugged. “This is part of me territory.”

  “Territory? You mean pickpockets have territories?” Fascinating.

  “‘Course they do. Otherwise we’d all be fighting over every pidgeon that crossed our path.”

  “But no one’s tried to pick our pockets,” I pointed out.

  Will looked scornful. “‘Course not. I been following you since you turned into Broad Street. Signaled the other blokes to lay off.”

  “Oh.” So we hadn’t been in any real danger, thanks to Will. “Well, thank you. Very much.” Once again, Will had been covering my back. And I hadn’t even had to ask! I glanced ahead to Tetley, who was turning the next corner.

  “Well, don’t thank me too much, miss. There’s one bloke back there who ain’t getting the signal.”

  “You mean someone else is following us? Besides you?”

  “Aye. Attached himself at Queen Street.”

  “Is he the same one who followed me from the train station?”

  “Nah. That was me first thought, too. But it weren’t.”

  “Well, who is he then?” I asked, turning to see if I could spot him.

  “Don’t look! ‘E’ll know yer on to ‘im. Who knows what ‘e’ll do then?”

  I clutched Will’s arm. “We mustn’t let the man up in front of us get out of sight. I think he’s stolen something valuable from the museum. I have to find out what he’s doing with it.”

  “Blimey, miss. This is just like one of them penny dreadfuls.” He sounded very cheerful about it. “Let’s go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered, acting for all the world as if he were merely out for a morning stroll.

  I tried to seem as casual, but it is terribly difficult to saunter when you know you’re being followed by someone.

  What little sense of adventure there had been in the beginning was gone now and it felt like grim dogging of duty. Then it occurred to me—we were a team! Just like a group of archaeologists on a dig or exploration. A small warmth lodged itself in my chest and my steps felt somehow lighter. We walked for about two more blocks before Tetley suddenly picked up his pace and made a quick, unexpected dash into a small alley just off Parker Street.

  Behind us, we heard the footsteps of the person on our trail break into a run. I whipped my head around. Was he going to make his move on us now that Tetley was out of sight?

  I saw Will glance around, looking for a hiding place. The dreary building nearby, with its even drearier inhabitants, didn’t look as if it’d offer us much protection.

  In no time the footsteps were upon us. I took a deep breath, put on my fiercest scowl, and braced myself.

  ***

  But the man barreled past us. He wasn’t following us at all. He was following Tetley!

  And if that was the case, the pursuer most likely knew about the wretched Heart of Egypt. Bother. Why not just announce it in the Times for goodness’ sake?

  In silent agreement, the three of us inched our way into the alley. All sorts of filth mixed with the rainwater and ran over the cobbles. The brick walls were black with grime and crumbling with damp. The alley looked more like a cross between a sewer and a rubbish bin than anything else.

  It was also a dead end. Tetley’s path was blocked by a brick wall.

  His pursuer drew closer and pulled a long black club out of his coat.

  Tetley turned just in time to see the stick come down upon his head.

  “He coshed the blighter!” Will said, sounding suspiciously cheerful about the whole thing.

  Tetley crumpled like a falling soufflé, folding his body into a puddle on the ground. My hand flew to my mouth as I vowed not to scream. Was he dead? Or just unconscious? I couldn’t tell. But it was obvious this fellow was playing for keeps!

  The attacker (tall and very dashing, really, in a villainous sort of way) quickly knelt down and began searching Tetley’s pockets. He found something in the upper coat pocket, which he took out and put in his own. He felt for Tetley’s pulse, then stood up, adjusted his coat, straightened his hat, and turned back toward the street.

  We jerked back out of sight. My mind was racing. Poor Tetley! Had I just witnessed a murder? Should I abandon the Heart of Egypt and go for help? I was at a loss for what to do. Luckily, Will took command.

  “You two wait by the chip shop on the corner. I’ll go this way and wait fer ‘im down by the brewery. That way, whichever way ‘e goes, we’ll have ‘im covered.”

  My indecision lifted when I heard a groan from the alleyway. Hopefully, if Tetley was well enough to groan, he was well enough to wait for help until Henry and I had retrieved the Heart of Egypt.

  But before Will could get into position, the attacker quickly emerged from the alley and headed down Drury Lane toward the river. We all followed.

  This time we hadn’t even managed a whole block before we heard the sound of footsteps behind us. Honestly! Doesn’t anyone in London have anything better to do than follow other people around?

  Will caught my eye and jerked his head slightly up the street. I gave a tiny nod to let him know I’d heard the footsteps, too. He held up three fingers. Three pursuers.

  And this time, of course, we couldn’t count on the fellow we were following for any sort of help at all.

  At Russell Street the man in front of us seemed to realize he was being followed (although I doubt he realized he was being followed by half of London!). He switched directions and moved away from the river, walking at such a furious clip that we had to trot like horses to keep up with him.

  Of course, the pursuers were
no idiots and quickly increased their pace until the whole lot of us were galloping down the street.

  And nobody seemed to give a fig. On my side of Oxford Street, people would have at least stared, or shouted out a “Hey there!” But not on this side of Oxford Street. Here they shuffled quickly out of the way and stood back to watch the show.

  The man ahead of us now seemed rather desperate to lose his pack of followers. He twisted and turned, taking side streets and back alleys, but we all doggedly stuck to his trail. We finally emerged along the back side of Covent Garden. The man tore around to the east side of the gardens, expertly dodging the straggling carts left over from the morning’s market.

  We emerged at the west end of the gardens into the courtyard of St. Paul’s Church. Of course—he was going to seek sanctuary inside the church! Brilliant!

  His other pursuers soon realized this as well. They oozed toward the stranger in front of us, moving with a lethal grace that reminded me of Isis when she was hunting mice. They fanned out, cutting off the victim before he could reach the church door. The three of us ducked behind one of the large columns to watch, hoping to stay out of sight.

  The man who’d attacked Tetley drew out his truncheon and crouched in a fighting stance. Outnumbered, he struck first, taking the attackers by surprise. The surprise lasted only a moment before they swarmed him, fists flying.

  Cornered now, he fought like a madman, swinging his bludgeon like a sword, using his elbows and kicking, but in the end, there were just too many of them. Two of the men finally grabbed his arms, and one of the others strode up to him, placed his arm around the man’s neck as if he were hugging him, then jabbed him in the gut. As the assailant pulled away, the stranger collapsed to the ground. There was a vicious-looking knife in the other man’s hand, covered in blood.