For those of you just tuning in, I am posting a chapter a month of Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus to help tide you over until the book comes out in April. I also need to post my standard spoiler alert:

WARNING, This chapter of Book Three, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Four: The Arcane Order of the Black Sun Calls a Meeting

I’m sorry, this post is no longer available…..

WARNING, This chapter of Book Three, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Three – Scorpions on the Loose

BOTHER. I had hoped to avoid another meeting with the supreme master of the Arcane Order of the Black Sun for a while longer. Say, a lifetime. In fact, that’s why it had taken so long for Will to coax me out to the Alcazar to see Awi Bubu; I’d been trying to avoid Trawley. He was mad as a hatter and convinced I was a reincarnation of Isis and had mystical powers. Of course, that was all nonsense, but even so, he had a nasty habit of snatching me off the street.

I’m sorry, the rest of this post is no longer available.

WARNING, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus is Book Three and the chapters MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. The rest of the chapter is up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

Chapter Two
Curioser and Curioser

THE SPACE WAS DARK AND SMALL and smelled of mice. Once he’d gotten his bearings, Ratsy led us through a twisting set of hallways.

“How does he know his way around so well?” I asked Will.

“’E’s worked ’ere before, miss. When you’re a rat catcher, you get to know your way around a lot of places.”

Will’s words filled me with unease. I risked a glance behind me, afraid giant rats might be following us even now, but I could see nothing in the gloom.
Will came to an abrupt stop, and since my attention had been behind me, I bumped into him with an oof.

“Careful, miss. There’s people about now.”

Indeed, I could hear voices and the sound of steps hurrying back and forth.

Backstage was a confusing collection of small rooms and closets opening off a crooked hallway. To make matters worse, the entire floor listed sharply to the right. A faint odor of old sweat and pipe smoke hung in the air.

Ratsy held his finger to his lips, then pointed to a door that was slightly ajar.

“Take’s dropping off,” said a voice. If I wasn’t mistaken—and I rarely was —it was the announcer’s voice. It had the same flat vowels and oratory quality.

“Some days are better than others, are they not?” This voice was softer and had a lilting accent. Awi Bubu’s? “And the daytime shows, they are never as good as those at night.”
“Mebbe. But that’s the whole point of keeping a foreigner around, to pump up the profits. If you can’t do that, I’ll get someone else in here.”

“You have had three weeks of very good profits.”

“And I want three more. Now keep the money coming in or you and that mummy of yours are out on your ear.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

I flinched, certain the other man would begin yelling that he certainly did too mean it. Instead, there was a long pause, and then he spoke again. “You’ re right. I don’ t. Just try to bring in more than you did today.”

Before the three of us eavesdroppers could react, the announcer came barreling out of the small room directly into us.

We stared at each other in surprised shock before my instincts kicked in. “Is this where the Great Awi Bubu is?” I asked in a breathless voice. “Do you think it would be all right if we spoke to him?” I clasped my hands together as if in adoration.

The announcer looked nonplussed for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t care what you kids do as long as you’re out of here in five minutes.” He pushed past us, and we were left staring at the door.

“Go on, then.” Will nudged me. “You ’eard the man. We only got five minutes.”

I suddenly felt shy. What was I going to say to the magician anyway? Ho there, were you using real Egyptian magic? Are you by any chance a member of the Arcane Order of the Black sun?

“Do come in and quit hovering at my door,” the magician called out.

We all froze, then shuffled into the room like a small herd of sheep.

“’Ow’d you know we was out there, guv’nor?” Will asked, his eyes round again. They were going to pop out of his head if he kept this up.

“Did you use yer Egyptian magic on us?” Ratsy asked eagerly.

“Nothing as exciting as all that, I’ m afraid. I heard the stage manager talking to you.”

As the magician spoke, his eyes drifted to me. He blinked twice, then asked, “How can the humble Awi Bubu serve you?”

“Whoa,” Ratsy said, ignoring the man’s question. His eyes were glued to the cloth-wrapped figure propped against the wall. “Is this the mummy you use on stage?”

It was so clearly a fake that I couldn’t help but snort. Awi Bubu cocked his head to the side and studied me. “You do not believe in mummies, miss?”

“Of course I do, but real ones, not fakes like this.” I turned to Ratsy. “It really is a fake. Go ahead and poke it. With your permission, of course,” I hastily added.

Awi Bubu nodded; his glittering black eyes still sharply focused on me. “But of course.”

Will grabbed Ratsy and pulled him back. “’E ain’t touchin’ that thing. No way, miss. It’ d curse him, it would. You should know that better’n anyone.”

I felt Awi Bubu’s glance sharpen even more.

“But that is the point, Will. I do know more than most, and it is clearly a fake. Here.” I sighed in exasperation, stepped over to the wall, and poked the wrapped figure (I refused to call it a mummy) in the stomach.

It grunted, which startled Will and Ratsy so bad that they squealed and leaped backwards.

“See?” I told them. “Real mummies don’t grunt. And they aren’t soft, like this one is. It’s a man wrapped up in linen, just like I told you.”

“Let me introduce you to my assistant, Kimosiri,” Awi Bubu said.

The tall figure reached up and unwound the wrappings from his head, revealing a large lumpy face with weathered skin and small black eyes.

“Very pleased to meet you,” I said.

He nodded solemnly at me.

“So Little Miss is a skeptic?” Awi Bubu said. “How does she come to be such an expert on mummies, I wonder.”

The room grew a little warmer and for a brief moment, I found myself wanting to tell him just how very much I knew about mummies and Egyptian magic. Instead, I said, “That’s funny, sir. That’s exactly what I wanted to ask you. Some of the tricks you performed were very authentic reenactments of ancient Egyptian rituals. I wondered how you came to know of such things.”

“Ah, but I asked you first, did I not? Shall we agree to a trade of information?”

“Very well,” I said, intending to tell him as little as possible. “My parents run a museum with Egyptian exhibits. Since I spend a lot of time there, I’ve picked up a few things about ancient Egypt. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m afraid I’ve nothing as interesting as a museum in my past. I am but an exile from my own country, Egypt, as you rightly guessed. When I found myself alone in a strange land with no means of support . . . well, one must make a living however one can.” He glanced pointedly at Ratsy and Will, and I was suddenly afraid that he somehow knew that Will was, or had been, a pickpocket. Then I realized I was being silly. He was most likely referring to Ratsy’s profession.

“Which of my tricks most impressed Little Miss?” He smiled at me, revealing a gold tooth. “Clearly not my mummy act.”

“Er, no.” For some reason, I was reluctant to let him know what exactly had alerted me. “It was the oracle trick. The one where you used Ratsy here.”

“Ah.” Was it my imagination or did his face relax slightly? “In fact, I wanted to ask if by any chance you know Aloysius Trawley? I’ve seen him perform the very same trick.”

“Alas, I do not know this Mr. Trawley, and I am crushed to hear I am not the first to perform this act in London. However, I am curious as to how Little Miss comes to know so much about ancient Egyptian rituals?”

Bother. That was the problem with asking questions. Sometimes one revealed more than was wise. “I told you, my parents run a museum.”

“Yes, but museums do not generally offer insight into the actual rituals performed by ancient Egyptian priests.”

I ignored that for the moment. “That thing you had Ratsy say, about the black sun and red sky. Is that something you have all your volunteers say?”

Awi Bubu turned to Ratsy. “Did I tell you to say that?”

Ratsy shook his head.

The magician spread his hands wide. “I said nothing other than what you and the audience heard. Do his words mean something to you?”

“Of course not,” I lied. “They were just odd, that’s all.”

“Exactly which museum do Little Miss’s parents run? Perhaps I may come visit next time I am feeling homesick.”

“The British Museum.” The lie popped out of my mouth like an eager toad. Startled, Will turned and looked at me. Before more questions could follow, I bobbed a quick curtsy. “Thank you very much for letting us chat with you. It’s been lovely, but your manager said we only had five minutes and we don’ t want to keep you.” I grabbed Will’s arm and we headed for the door, Ratsy right behind us.

“Goodbye, Little Miss! Thank you for honoring me with your visit.” Awi Bubu’s mocking voice followed us out into the hall.

As Ratsy led us to the nearest exit, I realized the conversation hadn’t been as informative as I’ d hoped. I had no choice but to chalk up the similarities between Ratsy’s prediction and mine to coincidence. The only problem was, I wasn’t very fond of coincidences.

We met up with Snuffles, and when we were outside, I asked Ratsy about it again, hoping that with Awi Bubu nowhere in sight, he’d feel free to tell me the truth.

“No, miss. ’E didn’t whisper nothing in me ear or slip me a note.”

“Ratsy couldn’t read a note, even if Awi Bubu had given him one. ’E doesn’t know ’ow to read.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

Will motioned his brothers on ahead, then pulled me aside. “So, wot’d you fink?”

“About what?”

“About the magician, o’ course!”

“Oh. He was fascinating.”

“So don’t you fink that proves I have a nose fer Egyptian magic? Don’t you fink I could ’ave a future in the Brotherhood as somefink more than a errand boy?”

“I would certainly think so,” I said. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my decision. It was up to Lord Wigmere, head of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers.

“Then you’ll put in a good word wif Wiggy next time you see ’im, won’t you?”

Somehow, I didn’t think a group of men dedicated to protecting their country from the influence of ancient magic and curses would give two figs about the Alcazar Theater or penny-show magicians. However, I promised that I would talk to Wigmere, then left Will to his brothers and began walking back to the museum.

My mind whirred frantically, trying to puzzle out just who exactly Awi Bubu was. I suppose it was possible that ancient Egyptian rituals were common knowledge among Egyptians. Except that was one of the things that were so exciting about archaeology; it unlocked the secrets to the past, secrets that even the Egyptians themselves had forgotten about their history, so that explanation didn’t really work. It seemed more likely that he was simply unwilling to confess
that he was a member of the Black Sun. Or, I thought, my steps slowing, perhaps he was a plant for the Serpents of Chaos. They also knew quite a lot about Egyptian magic.
And were dedicated to using it to plunge our world into, well, chaos.

As I turned the corner off Phoenix Road, I detected a flicker of movement nearby, and then a man fell into step behind me. I thought it was Gerton, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, it wasn’t good news.

Half a block later, another man stepped out of a recessed doorway as I passed. I kept my eyes in front of me and pretended I hadn’t seen him. If I ignored them, perhaps I’ d make it back to the museum without a confrontation.

However, when Basil Whiting, Trawley’s second in command, stepped out of an alley and leaned up against a lamp- post, effectively cutting off that avenue of escape, it became clear that not only had the scorpions found me, but they weren’t about to let me pretend otherwise.

However, be aware that the chapters in Book Three MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR BOOK TWO, THEODOSIA AND THE STAFF OF OSIRIS. So if you haven’t read that yet, STOP RIGHT NOW. I’ll be putting the chapters up under the cut in order to protect those who haven’t read Book Two yet.

You have been warned.

Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus
Chapter One – The Great Awi Bubu

M A R C H 2 3 , 1 9 0 7

I HATE BEING FOLLOWED. I especially hate being followed by a bunch of lunatic adults playing at being occultists. Unfortunately, the Black Sunners were out in full force today. I’ d spotted the first one on High Street, and by the time I’ d reached the Alcazar Theater, there were two more on my tail.

I glanced at the sparse crowd waiting outside the rundown theater, my heart sinking when I saw that Sticky Will wasn’t there yet. Not knowing what else to do, I got in line for the ticket window, then checked to see if the men would follow. One leaned against the building across the street, and another one lounged against a lamppost, pretending to read the paper.

“If you aren’t going to purchase a ticket, get out of the way,” a coarse voice said.

I pulled my gaze away from my pursuers to find the woman in the ticket booth glaring at me. While my attention had been focused elsewhere, the line had moved forward, and it was now my turn. “Sorry,” I muttered, setting my coin on the counter.

She snatched it up and shoved a green paper ticket at me. “Next?” she called out.

As I left the ticket booth, Will was still nowhere in sight. Keeping a close eye on the Black Sunners for any sudden moves, I ventured over to the playbill pasted to the crumbling brick wall.

INTRODUCING
THE GREAT AWI BUBU!
PERFORMING
REAL EGYPTIAN MAGIC!

The lurid picture showed a man in traditional Egyptian garb raising a mummy.

I was relatively sure that whatever the Great Awi Bubu did, it was n o t Egyptian magic. He was most likely some charlatan taking advantage of London’s heightened interest in all things Egyptian.

Not that I’d had anything to do with that —well, not intentionally anyway. All those mummies running loose in London hadn’t really been my fault. How was I to know that there was such a thing as a staff that could raise the dead? Or that it would be lurking in the Museum of Legends and Antiquities’ basement? It could have happened to anyone.

Sticky Will had been instrumental in fixing the situation, and in the process he’ d learned a little more about my unique relationship with the artifacts in my father’s museum. Rather too much, if you asked me. But it couldn’t be helped.

Oh, he didn’t know I was the only one who could sense the vile curses and black magic still clinging to the artifacts. Or the true extent of my knowledge of the ancient Egyptian rituals and practices that I’d used to remove the curses. But he had seen some of the magic in action. And he’d seen what unscrupulous people were willing to do to get their hands on it. Consequently, Will now spent a large portion of his time scouring London in search of even more Egyptian magic, determined to prove that he was ready, willing, and able to take on the dark forces that surrounded us.

Which was why I now stood in front of the Alcazar Theater, ticket clutched in my hand, after everyone else had gone inside. The Black Sunners across the street —they called themselves scorpions, in honor of an old Egyptian myth —also seemed to realize that the crowd had thinned. With no one else about, one of the scorpions —Gerton, I believe —decided to make his move. Stepping away from the building, he headed across the street.

Will or no Will, I had to get inside. As I turned for the door, I heard a loud, wet, snuffling sound from behind the ticket booth. I perked up. There was only one person I knew who could turn a runny nose into a calling card: Snuffles.

I hurried around the corner, nearly bumping into one of Will’s younger brothers. He wore a loud, plaid morning coat that was so large it nearly dragged on the ground. His sleeves had been rolled up several times, and he peered up at me from under an enormous bowler hat that was held in place by his rather remarkable ears. “Yer late,” he said.

“No, I’ m not. I’ve been waiting here for ages. Where’s Will?”

“’E’s inside already. Sixth row from the stage, center section, aisle seat. And ’e says to ‘urry. The show’s about to start.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll meet you inside,” he said, then disappeared back down the street.

With one final glance in Gerton’s direction, I proceeded to the theater entrance, gave my ticket to the porter, and went inside.

The lobby was empty and I could hear the feeble music of an out-of-tune piano. I opened the door that led to the auditorium and found that the lights had already been turned down. I let my eyes adjust to the dark, relieved when I finally recognized Will in the sixth row. He was easy to spot, actually, as he kept turning in his seat and looking around.

For me, no doubt.

He spotted me, then waved. I hurried to the empty seat next to him.

“Wot took you so long?” he asked.

“I’ve been waiting out front for ages,” I said. “Where were you?”

Before I could answer, Snuffles and another boy appeared in the aisle. “Let us in,” Snuffles said, a bit urgently. I turned my knees to the side so he could work past me. The second boy removed his tweed cap as he scooted by and I recognized the thin, pinched features of another one of Will’s brothers —Ratsy. We had met briefly aboard the Dreadnought during a rather distracting set of circumstances. Nevertheless, he gave me a nod of greeting.

“How did you get in here?” I whispered to Snuffles.

He looked at Will, who pointedly wouldn’t meet my gaze. “We used a side entrance, miss. Now ’ush. It’s about to start.”

Just then, the piano music became louder, more jangling.

The curtain opened. I settled back in the lumpy, threadbare seat, and resolved to enjoy myself.

The stage held two fake palm trees, a pyramid that looked as if it was made of papier-mâché, and half a dozen burning torches. A sarcophagus sat in the middle of the stage. The music stopped, and the theater was so quiet you could hear the hiss of the gas lamps. Slowly, the lid to the sarcophagus began to open. It fell against the side with a thud, then a figure rose up from its depths.

“The Great Awi Bubu,” a loud voice intoned from somewhere offstage, “will now perform amazing feats of Egyptian magic. This magic is old and dangerous, and the audience is advised to do exactly as the magician says in order to avoid any misfortune.”

The magician was a skinny, wizened man who did indeed look to be of Egyptian descent. His head was bald and rather large. He wore a pair of wire spectacles perched on his beakish nose; it gave him the air of a very old baby bird. He wore a tunic of white linen with a colorful collar that looked vaguely like ancient Egyptian dress.

He stepped toward a basket near the front of the stage. Will elbowed me in the ribs. “Watch this now,” he whispered.

“I am watching,” I whispered back. What did he think, that I was sitting here with my eyes closed?

Awi Bubu pulled a flutelike instrument from the folds of his robe, and began to play a strange, haunting melody. Slowly, he sat down in front of the basket and crossed his legs. After another moment of music playing, the lid of the basket began to rise. It swayed gently, then fell to the side.

“You must all be very quiet,” the announcer told us in a hushed voice. “Any sudden noise could be disastrous.”

A moment later a small, dark form appeared at the lip of the basket. It hesitated for a moment, then darted free and scurried over to the magician. Several more forms followed. Scorpions —scores of them. I shivered as they scuttled their way up Awi Bubu’s legs, onto his chest, and across his arms. One even climbed up his neck to rest on his bald head, like a macabre hat. Throughout it all, other than playing his flute, the magician did not so much as twitch a muscle.

As the audience held its breath, there was a disturbance at the back of the theater. “Hey! You can’t go in there without a ticket!”

I craned my neck around to see two heavily cloaked men walking down the aisles, searching the faces in the theater. More scorpions! Only this time, of the human variety.

I scrunched down low in my seat, grabbed Snuffles’s hat, and plopped it down on my own head, trying not to think of lice. I held my breath, hoping Gerton and Fell wouldn’t spot me.

The strange music chose that moment to clatter to a stop. The two human scorpions came to a halt in the aisle, giving the porters a chance to catch up with them. As they were escorted out of the theater, Awi Bubu opened his eyes and, with surprising grace, rose to his feet, the scorpions still clinging to him. The audience gasped.

Next to me, Will shuddered violently. “That’s disgusting, that is.”

“There must be a trick to it,” I whispered back to him.

“Scorpions are deadly poisonous. Perhaps he’s had all their stingers removed.”

Will cut a glance my way. “Do you always try to ruin the suspense, miss?”

Before I could reply, there was a nudge in my ribs. “Can I ’ave me ’at back, miss?”

“Sorry,” I said, handing it to Snuffles.

“Shh!” someone behind us hissed.

I scowled, but was saved from answering when the music began again, coming in short staccato bursts. The scorpions changed their direction and began to crawl off the magician. However, instead of heading back to the basket, they scuttled to the edge of the stage. A woman screamed, and the audience reared back in their seats.

“Quiet now,” the announcer reminded us. “You don’t want to provoke the magician’s beasties.”

The entire audience (myself included) held its breath as the scorpions hovered at the edge of the stage. Finally, they gave one last wave of their claws and swarmed back into the basket.

The audience relaxed a bit as the magician went over to secure the scorpions in the basket. Before he had finished, there was a loud thumping from within the pyramid. After two more thumps, something crashed right through and onto the stage. We all gasped in surprise as a mummy lumbered out. I glanced at Will, whose eyes were as big and round as guineas. Honestly. It was clearly a man wrapped up in linen; how could anyone be fooled by this? They wouldn’t be if they had ever seen a real mummy. Especially if they’d been unfortunate enough to see a real mummy on the move, as I had. I stifled a shudder.

“It’s right creepy, ain’t it, miss?” Will whispered, mistaking my shudder as having to do with the mummy onstage. Not wanting to ruin his enjoyment, I simply said, “Fascinating.” (Fascinating is such a lovely word—it covers so many possibilities.)

The mummy shuffled around onstage a bit while the audience oohed and aahed. Then the mummy paused, as if noticing the audience for the first time. Slowly and with great theatrics, he began to lurch toward the audience as if he planned to come right off the stage and into our midst.

“Awi Bubu seems to have lost control of the mummy,” the announcer said in a breathless voice. “Quick now, before it’s too late, toss coins at him. Coins are the only thing that will
stop him.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. What kind of operation was this anyway? There was a halfhearted smattering of coins onto the stage. From the corner of my eye, I saw Will, Ratsy, and Snuffles all toss something toward the mummy. That’s when I began to get angry. Will and his brothers had so little, as did most of the other people in this rundown joke of a theater. How dare the management try to milk even more of their hard-earned money from them?

Finally, as if beaten back by the coins, the mummy retreated into the pyramid. The audience settled down, and I shifted in my seat.

The torches dimmed and two stagehands dressed as Egyptian slaves hurried out onto the stage. While they laid bricks down on the floor, Awi Bubu went to one of the fake palm trees and lifted a bronze dish from behind it.

“For Awi Bubu’s next amazing feat of magic, we need a volunteer from the audience. Who will volunteer?”

Like deranged jack-in-the-boxes, Will, Snuffles, and Ratsy leaped to their feet, their hands thrust high into the air. Awi Bubu studied the audience carefully before raising a long skinny arm and pointing at Ratsy.

He gave a hoot of glee, and Will and Snuffles groaned in disappointment. An usher arrived at the end of the row to escort Ratsy up onto the stage. Once Ratsy was there, Awi Bubu positioned him on the bricks, face-down, then set the vessel on the floor by his head. One of the stagehands lit some incense, and Awi Bubu poured a few drops from a
flask into the bronze dish.

A jolt of recognition shot through me. The Great Awi Bubu was reenacting an ancient Egyptian oracular ceremony, the very same one Aloysius Trawley had forced me to
perform a few short weeks ago! Whoever this magician was, he clearly knew something about real ancient Egyptian practices. Which made him very interesting indeed.

“Remove all thoughts from your mind,” the magician instructed Ratsy in a low, sing-songy voice. “Let it become a blank slate by which the gods can communicate.” Then he
began to chant. “Horus, we call upon your power and strength. Open this child’s eyes to your wisdom.”

I sat bolt upright in my seat. Those were the exact words that Trawley had used. Did this Awi Bubu belong to Trawley’s Arcane Order of the Black Sun—a secret society dedicated to matters of the occult? Is that why Trawley’s men had been so comfortable barging into the theater?

As the smell of incense in the theater began to overpower the smell of gin, Awi Bubu asked Ratsy a question. “What is your name?”

“Ratsy.”

“What is your occupation?”

“A rat catcher.” I was suddenly very glad Will hadn’t been picked; he’ d have been forced to confess he was a pick-pocket in front of this rough crowd.

“Where do you live?”

“Nottingham Court, off Drury Lane.”

The magician turned to the audience. “Who has a question they’d like to ask the oracle?”

Hands shot into the air. How could people be so gullible? How could they not tell this was all a hoax? But no one seemed to suspect a thing. They were all waving their arms in the air, hoping Awi Bubu would pick them.

“Will me old man’s ship come in soon?” a young clerk clutching his hat in his hand called out.

“No. He will be in debtors’ prison by the end of the year,” Ratsy intoned in a hollow voice.

A woman sprang to her feet. “Will my son get better?”

“’E’ll be right as rain come next Tuesday.”

She closed her eyes in relief.

“What ’ orse should I bet on this Saturday?” a man shouted.

“Pride o’ the Morning,” Ratsy said. The man—along with half the occupants of the theater —hastily scribbled the name down on a scrap of paper.

“Will there be any more funny business like them mummies?” an old man asked, his question causing the others to quiet down.

There was a pause, then: “The Black Sun shall rise up in a red sky before falling to earth, where a great serpent will swallow it.”

I gasped. Those were the very words I had uttered to Trawley! How did Ratsy know? Had Awi Bubu slipped him a note? Whispered in his ear? Surely this proved the magician was one of Trawley’s men.

“It is time to come back to earth, my child,” Awi Bubu said gently.

Ratsy blinked, then scrambled to his feet and looked sheepish. “Will I ’ave a chance to do magic?” he asked.

“You have done magic,” Awi Bubu informed him kindly. Then he bowed. The audience applauded, and Ratsy flushed bright red all the way to his ears. Awi Bubu motioned to
Ratsy, and the audience applauded even louder. As Ratsy made his way back to his seat, the magician bowed one last time, and then the curtains closed.

People began leaving their seats and heading up to the exits, but there was one determined man coming down the aisle. Gerton had got past the porter somehow.

I quickly turned to Will. “Do you think you could get us backstage? I’d like to meet this magician of yours.”

Will’s face brightened. “’E’s something, ain’t ’e, miss! I told you I could be more than just an errand boy. I’ve got a nose for this stuff, I ’ave.”

“Er, yes, you do,” I agreed. “Can we hurry?” I asked, glancing once more at the approaching Gerton.

“I’m sure Ratsy can get ye back there. Let’s ask ’im.”

We went toward the stage and caught up with Ratsy just as he was coming down the steps. He still looked a bit dazed and sheepish. “Did I really do magic?” he asked.

“Sure did, bucko! Spouted out all sorts of stuff. Ratsy’s small pinched face glowed with pleasure. “D’ you fink you could get us backstage? You knows the way, don’ t you, Rats?”

Ratsy nodded. “Sure.”

Will turned to Snuffles. “You guard the exit so it don’t get locked before we’re done ’ere.”

With a quick look around, Ratsy led me and Will toward a small door to the left of the main stage. I glanced over my shoulder. Gerton was still searching through the seats, trying to find me.

Almost as if he’d felt my gaze on him, he lifted his head and looked my way.

I quickly darted through the door, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

Chapter Two will be posted on November 6. Check back then!