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.

You’ll also notice that I’ve taken down Chapters Three and Four. Part of the agreement with my publisher is that I wouldn’t leave six chapters up at once.

CHAPTER SIX

THE EMERALDTABLET

“HENRY!”I YELLED. “What on earth are you doing? These aren’t toys, you know.”

Henry stared in horror at the tip of the lance blade, which was now slightly crumpled. “How was I to know you were going to bash it with a stone tablet?”

“What do you expect me to do when you come at me with a lance? Besides, I didn’t mean to. It was just instinct to get something between me and the point of the blade.”

I knelt down to examine the stele. Sure enough, a huge crack ran right through the middle. “Oh, Henry, you’ve destroyed it!”

“Have not.” He replaced the lance in the corner and came to kneel beside me. “Maybe we could glue it?” he suggested.

“And hope that no one would notice? I don’t think so.”

“Well, it can’ t be very important if it’s been moldering down here for ages.”

“All artifacts are important, Henry.” I reached out and picked up the stele, horrified when the top right corner fell onto the floor. The damage was much worse than I’d thought.

“I say! Look!” Henry pointed. Under the corner that had fallen off, a dull green stone peeked out.

I frowned in puzzlement and brought the stele closer so I could examine it more thoroughly. Henry leaned in to see better too. I glared at him. “You’re breathing on me.”

“Sorry. But what is that underneath, do you think?”

“I’m not sure. It almost looks as if the stele was covering something else.”

“Well, then, this isn’t a disaster, it’s a find,” he was quick to point out.

I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook that easily. “I’m not so sure . . .”

“It is. Look!” He grabbed the stele out of my hands, set it on the floor, and began breaking off the rest of the outer layer.

“Henry! Stop! That’s not how you do it.”

But I was too late. In less than ten seconds he had completely peeled off the outer layer. It came away as easily as the skin of an orange, revealing a dull green stone of some sort.

I couldn’t tell what kind of stone it was. Even more intriguing, there were symbols carved into its surface. They were unlike any I’ d ever seen and were certainly not Egyptian hieroglyphs. Which was odd, because there were also figures of Egyptian gods carved into the surface. I recognized the ibis-headed Thoth, who was handing something to the falcon-headed Horus. They stood in front of three mountain peaks with light from Ra shining down upon them.

“This is an important discovery, isn’t it, Theo?” Henry said, his chest puffing up a bit.

“Well, it was completely the wrong way to go about it, but yes,” I finally admitted. “This would definitely qualify as a discovery. Of some sort.”

Just then, a creak on the stairs had Henry and me jumping to our feet. Instinctively, I stepped in front of the green tablet, hoping to hide it from view.

Edgar Stilton hovered on the second stair from the bottom. I was relieved to see he wasn’t looking at us but instead staring rather uneasily at the mummies against the wall. Specifically, at Tetley.

“Stilton, what are you doing down here?” My question came out rather harsh, but I hadn’t forgotten that his snooping on my activities was what had led Aloysius Trawley to suspect I had magic powers to begin with.

“Your parents asked me to come find you and tell you they are ready to leave for —I say! What have you got there?” Eyes fixed on the green stone tablet, he came over to where

Henry and I stood.

Without thinking, I reached down and grabbed the heavy stone from the floor and clutched it tightly in both hands. “I’m not sure,” I said with a warning glance at Henry. “It’s just one of the steles from the shelf.” I tried to turn away as if to put it back, but Stilton reached out and stopped me.

“Can I have a look?” His face was shining and eager. And, I reminded myself, he was almost as good as I was at picking up odd threads of power and magic. Of course, he didn’t know it, but I could tell. He always twitched and shuddered like a bug on the end of a pin when there were vile curses about. Rather handy, that. Especially in our museum.

He took the green stele from my hands, and I had to resist an urge to grab it back. I watched his face as he studied it, his academic interest quickly giving way to something else —awe. He looked at me, his face glowing eerily in the faint green reflection of the stele. “Do you realize what you’ve found, Theo?”

“Actually, it was me that found it,” Henry said with a bit of a swagger.

“No, I don’t,” I said, elbowing Henry. “Do you?”

He returned his eyes to the stele and stared at it reverently. “I believe I do. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve just found the Tabula Smaragdina, otherwise known as the Emerald Tablet, which magicians and alchemists have been searching for for centuries.”

“Oh,” I said, uneasy. If my experience with the Arcane Order of the Black Sun was any indication, when magicians are interested in something, it usually means it holds dangerous and questionable properties.

“Does it do anything?” Henry asked.

Hearing Henry’s voice seemed to remind Stilton that he and I were not free to talk openly. He blinked, focused his gaze on Henry, then smiled. “It is said to contain the alchemical formula that turns metal into gold.”

“Gold,” Henry breathed.

I frowned at Stilton. “But alchemy is all bunk, isn’t it? Just an old misguided scientific theory that turned out to be wishful thinking, right?”

“I don’ t know, Miss Theo. Some people think there is much truth to be found in the ancient science.” I cleared my throat and caught Stilton’s eye.

“Er, right,” he said. “Historical nonsense, really. From a more ignorant time.”

“Thank you, Stilton.” I did not need him planting such rot into Henry’s head.

Henry’s face fell. “But even if the formula was just wishful thinking, wouldn’t a tablet made of emerald be worth a fortune?”

“Well, yes. There is that,” Stilton conceded. Honestly. The man was not helping a bit!

“Did you say our parents were getting ready to leave?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes, I did. They were about to walk out the door when I came down here.”

“We’ d best hurry then, Henry. We don’ t want to get left behind.” I turned back to Stilton. “Thank you, Stilton. Could you tell them we’ll be right along? Oh, and do me a favor, if you would. Let’s not tell anyone — anyone —about this find just yet. I’d like to surprise my parents with it.”

“Of course, Miss Theo,” Stilton said. “I won’ t breathe a word.” Then he winked. Or twitched, I couldn’t be sure.

“Henry, come put these weapons away,” I said as Stilton disappeared up the stairs.

With a sigh and a sullen shuffle of his feet, Henry slumped back to the corner and replaced the weapons he’d been playing with. While his back was turned, I slipped the tablet under an old wooden shield on the shelf. While I t h o ug h t Stilton was mostly trustworthy —at least, more so than the others —I felt it best to hide the tablet, just to be on the safe side.

When Henry continued to dawdle, I gave him a little nudge (more of a push, really). I glanced around for Isis, but she had disappeared again. I worried briefly about locking her down in the catacombs for the night, then realized that since she’d gotten down there on her own, she could get out as well.

We reached the top of the stairs but found the hallway empty. “Maybe they’ re waiting in the foyer,” I suggested. They weren’t, so we hurried to the sitting room, hoping to find them there.

“Tell me again why we can’ t spend the night working here?” Father was saying as he shrugged into his coat. “We have over six weeks’ worth of work we need to accomplish in only two.”

“But darling,” Mother said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. “This is Henry’s first night home since Christmas.”

“Blast! I forgot again!”

Well, at least I wasn’t the only child he forgot about.

“That’s because you’ve been working too hard,” Mum said. “It would do you good to have a night off. Now, come along. Let’s go find the children.”

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I stepped into the room, pulling Henry behind me. “Here we are!” I said brightly.

“Like bad pennies, you two are,” Father said. Even though his words were gruff, he ruffled Henry’s hair in a playful manner. I found myself wishing for a much shorter haircut, like a boy’s. It’s hideously unfair that boys get to have their hair mussed as a sign of affection whereas girls aren’t allowed to get mussed at all. Just as I was beginning to feel sorry for myself, Father put his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go find some dinner, shall we?”

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.

C H A P T E R  F I V E

HE N RY  MA K E S   A N   U N E X PE C T E D  D I S C OV E RY

STILTON HAD THE DRIVER DROP ME at the corner of the square then take him around to the back of the building so we wouldn’t be seen together and raise any suspicions.

I opened the front door of the museum and peered cautiously inside. The foyer was a jumbled mess, partially assembled display cases were scattered throughout and half-unpacked crates littered the floor. At first glance, it appeared empty. Then I spied Clive Fagenbush coming down the stairs, carrying an enormous crate.

Like a hound on a scent, he quickly found me.

“Where have you been? Your parents and grandmother have been looking all over for you.” He seemed oddly pleased, as if he hoped I’d be getting in trouble for it.

“I was out for a walk,” I told him. It felt as if I’d been gone for days, but it hadn’t been more than two hours.

His look of disbelief told me what he thought of that excuse. Fagenbush managed to be more aware of my clandestine activities than anyone else, so he had good reason to be suspicious. He set the crate down and came over to where I stood. He confirmed we were alone, then lowered his voice. “Do you have a message for me to give to Wigmere?”

“Nope. Not a thing.” I stepped around the crate to make my way to the family withdrawing room, but he moved to cut me off.

“You’ re supposed to report to Wigmere every day. Through me,” he pointed out, his long nose quivering in frustration. “Have you come across anything else of note down in long-term storage? Anything else that Augustus Munk might have had hidden there?”

“Nothing more,” I said. “You can tell Wigmere I’ m still looking.”

“Since you’re not having any luck, perhaps someone with more experience ought to have a look. You might be missing something.”

I arched an eyebrow, like I’ d seen Mum do. “Wigmere seems to trust me with the task.”

His lip curled in disdain. “Not everyone is as easily fooled by you as he is. Besides, if you’re so very trustworthy, why did you sneak out today?”

Keeping tabs on me now, was he? “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Wigmere has made you my business. And in spite of what I think of you, I have no intention of failing in my duties.”

Fagenbush sharpened his gaze, and I resisted a shudder. “I will have your reports for Wigmere. I will not let an eleven-year-old girl derail my career with the Brotherhood. Do you understand me? You can make this easy on us both, or you can make it quite difficult.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” I muttered.

He recoiled in surprise. “What did you say?”

“I said, Have you seen my cat? I can’t seem to find her this morning.”

Before he could say anything further, an imperious voice came from the nearby hallway.

“But where is the gel?”

Grandmother! While I was rarely glad of her visits, I had to admit that today she’d timed it perfectly. Fagenbush shot me a dark look, then scuttled back up the stairs to retrieve another crate.

Grandmother’s voice continued. “She’s usually always underfoot, and now when I have need of her, she can’ t be found. How very contrary of her.”

A horrible thought occurred to me. What if she had another one of those beastly governesses in tow? Just as I was considering hiding, she barreled into the room with Father trailing behind her. He looked quite put out.

“I don’t know where she is, Mother, but perhaps next time if you’d let us know ahead that you planned to visit, we could be sure she was here to greet you.”

Grandmother paused and surveyed the mess around her. “Really, Alistair. Is this any way to run a museum? It’s a pigsty. It’s bad enough you chose to work; the least you could do is keep your museum tidy.”

“We’re preparing a new exhibit, Mother. And we’re closed for preparations, so no one will have to see the mess. Except for those who drop by unannounced,” he said pointedly.

“Theodosia! There you are,” Grandmother said, sailing toward me. “Where have you been, child? We’ve nearly turned this place upside down looking for you. It was most inconsiderate of you to disappear.”

I opened my eyes wide and tried to look innocent. “I’ve been in the basement all day, cataloging the items down there.”

“Really?” Father frowned. “That was the first place I looked.”

“Well,” I demurred. “I did have to come upstairs to use the facilities. Perhaps you just missed me?”

Grandmother thumped her cane. “Do not be vulgar.”

“What would you prefer I call it, Grandmother? The water closet?”

“I would prefer you didn’t call it anything at all. It’s not spoken of in polite company. Now, Sopcoate seemed rather fond of you. I thought perhaps you’d have some ideas.”

Oh no! I did not want to discuss Admiral Sopcoate with Grandmother Throckmorton! She’ d been rather sweet on him, which, as disgusting as it was, wasn’t nearly so bad as him turning out to be an agent of Chaos. She thought he’d died a hero’s death when really he’ d simply escaped with his fellow Serpents of Chaos. “Ideas for what?” I asked cautiously.

Father clapped his hands together. “Well, now that you’ve found her, I think I’ll be off to the workroom.”

Honestly. He was such a coward sometimes!

Grandmother waved him away. “Very well. I’ll see myself out once Theodosia and I have finished. Come, gel. I don’t want to stand in this mess. Let’s go to the withdrawing room. I only have a few minutes before I must leave for the admiralty.”

Thank heavens for small favors I thought as I meekly followed her into the room our family used as a refuge from museum business.

“Sit down,” she said, taking a seat on the small red-velvet settee.

I perched myself on the edge of a chair. It doesn’t do to get too comfortable around Grandmother.

“So.” She glanced at me briefly, then turned to study the clock on the mantel. “There’s been no more word on Admiral Sopcoate.”

“I’m very sorry, Grandmother,” I murmured.

“Yes, well. It can’t be helped. However, I’ve decided that something must be done to commemorate his courage and patriotism.” She speared me with a gaze. “It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?”

“Er, yes, Grandmother.”

She gave a small satisfied nod, pleased that, for once, she and I were in accord. If only she knew! But I’d been forbidden to tell her. Not to mention, I wasn’t certain how she’d take the news. She was a devout Conservative and it might do her in if she realized she’d been consorting with an enemy, however unknowingly. “What did you have in mind?”

She stood up and went over to the fireplace. “Something grand, I should think. With lots of pomp and ceremony. A big brass band and dress uniforms. Maybe even a forty-one-gun salute. It seems appropriate for a hero such as Sopcoate.”

“But Grandmother . . .” I had to step carefully here. “There are many heroes who don’t receive a forty-one-gun salute, aren’t there? Otherwise, we’d hear the guns going off constantly. I imagine there must be regulations for who gets that sort of fanfare, don’t you think?”

She scowled at me. “You sound just like the admiralty.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She sighed and turned back to the fireplace. “The admiralty has finally agreed to allow me to hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. However, they stopped short of letting me use Westminster Abbey or have his coffin paraded through London on a gun carriage. They were strangely reluctant to honor him in the proper manner, which made me just that much more determined. I will not have him snubbed or forgotten.”

How Grandmother had managed to convince the admiralty to allow a memorial service, I’ d never know. I could only assume it was approved by someone who wasn’t cleared to know the true reason for Sopcoate’s disappearance. Since I had vowed to be tactful, all I said was “Perhaps it had less to do with his status as a hero and more to do with the fact that there isn’t a body?”

“Either way, it is unforgivable. Now, I have selected a mahogany coffin, lined with a tufted mattress made of silk. I decided Sopcoate would not want ruffles. I’ve ordered an inscribed brass plate and brass handles, and, for the pall, I’ve chosen silk, not velvet, since it is nearly spring. Don’t you agree?”

It seemed pointless to mention —yet again —that there was no body to put in this fancy coffin, so I merely nodded my head.

“I’ ve also hired a carriage with six horses. They tried to talk me into only four, but I think Sopcoate deserves at least six. I’ve also arranged for black crepe scarves, black gloves, and black hatbands to be distributed to all those attending the service. Oh, and black ostrich plumes as well. I do think they add so much dignity to a funeral, don’t you?”

“Actually, Grandmother, I’ve never been to a funeral,” I pointed out.

She turned around to face me. “But of course! You weren’t even born yet when my dear husband passed on.” She paused for a moment, dreamy-eyed. “Now t h at was a funeral.” Grandmother clucked her tongue. “If you’ve never attended a funeral before, you’ll need to be fitted for proper mourning clothes.”

“Mourning clothes?”

“Of course. You cannot attend in anything but unrelieved black.” She thumped her cane. “I’ll be back in a day or two with a seamstress so we can get you fitted.” Before she could elaborate, the sound of the front door crashing against the wall made us both jump.

“What on earth—” Grandmother began.

“Is anybody in this moldy old place?”

I leaped to my feet. “Henry?” Horrified, I ran to the front door. There my brother stood, hands on his hips, glaring into the foyer.

“I say, what’s all that racket?” Father appeared on the top step.

“It’s Henry, Father,” I told him. “He’s home for Easter holidays.”

“I would have been here loads sooner,” Henry said, fixing his glare on me, “if someone hadn’t neglected to come fetch me. Which reminds me. I need cab fare to pay for the hansom.”

Father came down the stairs in a hurry. “Why didn’t you tell us, Theodosia? We would have gone to pick him up ourselves.”

I squelched a bubble of irritation. While it was true that I was usually the one to remember such things, it didn’t seem fair that I should get in trouble when I forgot.

The cabby stuck his head in the door. “Where’s me blunt, mate? You said someone ’ere would pay me. You’d best not be messin’ wif ol’ Bert here.”

“I’m not,” Henry said, then turned to me. “I need cab fare,” he repeated.

“Well, I certainly don’t have it,” I told him. “Father? We need to pay for Henry’s cab.”

“A young child taking a cab, all by himself?” Grandmother sounded scandalized. She had followed me into the foyer and now stood in the doorway looking down her long nose at us.

Father stepped outside to pay the cabby. As Grandmother made a path through the crates and artifacts in our direction, Henry sidled up to me. “I had thought things were different between us, but I can see that I was wrong. You’ re still up to your old ways.”

“No, Henry. Honestly. I just simply forgot —”

“You? Miss Know-it-all? Forget? Ha. You’ve always threatened to forget to remind Mum and Dad, but why this time?”

“No, really. I did. You see —” How was I to explain it to him? Where to even begin?

“See? It’s like I said. You forgot.”

I hate it when Henry is right. I especially hate it when he is right and I am wrong. The truth is, I would n o t have remembered even if Grandmother hadn’t been waiting. Or even if the wretched scorpions hadn’t ambushed me.

Before we could continue our conversation, Grandmother reached us and began fussing over Henry, who lapped it up like Isis with a bowl of cream. At least now I could make my escape.

I edged toward one of the pillars, hoping to slip out of sight unnoticed. I wanted to head for the reading room and research the oracle ritual Awi Bubu and Trawley had used. Maybe there were clues that might explain how both Ratsy and I had managed to have the same prediction.

I had nearly made it to the hall when I had to hop out of the way as Vicary Weems strode by. He held his nose so high in the air he didn’t even realize he’d nearly bowled me over. Beast. I waited to see what he was up to.

Father had returned, and Weems pranced toward him, throwing a glance at Henry as if he were something nasty my cat had dragged in. Weems cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir?”

Father, who had just managed to get Grandmother out the door, looked annoyed. “What is it, Weems?”

He cleared his throat again and tried to look as if what he was about to say pained him. However, the relish in his eyes belied that. “We’ve had a note from Lord Chudleigh, sir. He reminds us that the board of directors is still waiting for the museum’s inventory, which was due Friday.”

After the recent fiasco with all of London’s mummies ending up on our doorstep and suspicion landing, however briefly, on Father, the museum directors had decided they wanted a detailed inventory of all our artifacts, something that hadn’t been done in years —if ever. Presumably, the board members wanted a head count in case one of our artifacts decided to wander off. They completely missed the point that all the other artifacts had migrated here.

Father sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Yes, Weems. But as you can see, I’ m a little busy at the moment trying to get this new exhibit ready for the opening.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. But the opening is two weeks away, while the inventory was due three days ago. I find that it is all a question of managing one’s time proper —”

“Thank you, Weems,” Father interrupted, not sounding the least bit thankful. “I’ll have it to him directly.”

Weems quivered in righteous indignation as he gave a crisp “Very well, sir,” then high-stepped it out of there.

Honestly, how does he not trip over his own feet like that?

“Theodosia?”

Oops. “Yes, Father?”

“Have you finished inventorying the basement yet?”

“Almost done, Father. Just one more shelf, really.”

“Well then, get to it. I need it by the end of business today so I can get it to Chudleigh first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, Father.” Assigning me to inventory the basement had been a combination treat/punishment. (Yes, only my father would try to combine those two!) It was also an attempt to keep me occupied, since Grandmother had been unsuccessful in finding a governess who’d stick.

My research on the oracle rituals would have to wait. I changed direction and hurried to my small closet to fetch my ledger.

A miasma of cursed magic had hung over the basement for some time, but I hadn’t been able to pinpoint it to a particular artifact. Since I was running out of time, I decided to just grab every last bit of wax I owned and conduct a mass Second Level Test on everything at once.

I reached my closet and fetched the ledger from the washstand, where I’ d carelessly set it. Next I went to the large satchel where I kept all my curse-removing supplies and rummaged around until I had a handful of wax bits —candle stubs, mostly. Thus equipped, I headed for the catacombs.

On my way, I called softly for Isis, wondering where she’d gotten to. She normally came to greet visitors, so I was surprised she hadn’t turned up in the foyer when Henry had. Unfortunately, she didn’t turn up on my way to the basement either. Which was too bad, as I always preferred a bit of company down there.

The problem with the catacombs was that so many forgotten relics had been stacked on top of one another, it was nearly impossible to tell which ones were responsible for the vile magic and dark curses that swirled about. What made matters even worse was that the Staff of Osiris hadn’t even felt cursed, and I had no idea how to distinguish a power-laden artifact from an uncursed one.

I opened the door, turned up the gaslights, and then paused as the force of the dark magic hit me. I shuddered once, and gripped the three amulets I wore around my neck. Just as I lifted my foot to head down, a voice behind me said, “Can I come too?”

My pulse slowed a bit at this reprieve. “Henry!” Heartened considerably by the idea of a companion—even if it was only Henry —I said, “Why, of course you can come down. If you want to. But I didn’t think this sort of thing interested you all that much.”

Henry shrugged. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this stuffy old place.”

“Very well, then. Come along. But you need to wear this.” I lifted one of the amulets from my neck and held it out to him.

He recoiled as if I had offered him a plate of boiled suet.

“I’m not wearing one of your stupid necklaces.”

“It’s not a necklace, Henry. It’s protection. Remember? I gave one to Stokes when he was injured in St. Paul’s churchyard.”

He shook his head at me. “Quit pretending to be all magical and mystical,” he said.

“You’re not fooling anyone, and you just look stupid.” Then, before I could stop him, he

shoved past me and raced down the stairs. His words stung, and I had half a mind to leave him to the mercies of whatever magic he might find. Then we would see who was pretending. However, just the thought of that had me hurrying down the stairs after him. At the bottom step, instead of stopping, I kept right on going until I bumped smack into him.

“Watch it!” he said, pushing me away.

“Sorry,” I murmured as I slipped the amulet into his coat pocket under the guise of steadying myself. Once that important business had been taken care of, I turned my attention to the catacombs.

The gaslights barely penetrated the shadowed corners of the room, mostly because they weren’t run-of-the-mill shadows. I suppressed a shudder at the thought of an unprotected Henry. In front of me, Henry sniffed. “It smells like wet dog.”

My eyes flew to the Anubis statue sitting atop the Canopic shrine. He was sleek black stone, not a twitch of a whisker or tail, thank goodness. He hadn’t come to life again, not since I’ d returned the Orb of Ra to his shrine. But I’d been alone every other time I’ d come down here. I wasn’t sure if a second person’s k a would have an effect on him.

Some curses remained dormant for centuries until they were exposed to a person’s life force, which activated the magic in much the same way that the sun caused a flower to bloom.

“What’s your cat doing down here?” Henry pointed to where Isis lay, curled up between the statue’s front paws.

“What on earth are you doing here, Isis?”

She raised her head and blinked her golden eyes at me, then gave a meow of greeting.

Henry whistled, pulling my attention from the cat. His eyes were big and round as he stared at the mummies against the wall. “All right,” he finally said. “Now I see why you call it the catacombs. This place is creepy.”

I found it heartening that he finally felt a niggle of discomfort. He’d never admitted to that. “You should have seen it before I straightened it up some,” I told him as I headed for the shelves in the far corner, the very place I’ d found the Staff of Osiris. Ever since I’d learned that the staff had come to us as part of an entire warehouse of artifacts of unknown provenance, I’d been trying to identify the rest of the batch.

That was why I’d been dragging my feet on this inventory. If there were other powerful artifacts that wielded the power of the gods, I wasn’t sure I wanted to record them for all the world to see. Best to let them hide until I could get them to the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers and let them take it from there.

I glanced over my shoulder at Henry, who was still examining the row of mummies, paying particular attention to the mummy formerly known as Tetley. “I say, this fellow is rather odd-looking compared to the others.”

“You’ re correct, Henry. He is from a much more recent time period than the others are.” Would Henry recognize him? He had seen him once before, when Tetley was alive and we had been following him. As Henry continued to stare at the mummy, my worries grew.

“Here.” I took a blank page out of my ledger and handed it to him. “Could you go write down the names of all those weapons over in the corner? I haven’t had a chance to do it yet.” Actually, I had, but I knew that Henry had a keen interest in weaponry and it seemed like a good place to sit him.

“Weapons?” Henry’s whole face brightened. He took the sheet I held out and went over to the corner.

When he was safely occupied with that task, I proceeded toward the last shelf. As I’ d inventoried the basement, I’d also done a bit of organizing, and this shelf was where all the stone tablets had ended up, along with a few nearly unidentifiable odds and ends.

Hoping for a hint of latent power, I picked up the first stone tablet and held it tight. The stele featured a pharaoh offering wine to the god Amen-Ra and looked to be from the New Kingdom. However, there was no hint of power or magical energy. Of course, there hadn’ t been a trickle of power when I’ d first held the staff either. However, there had been a distinct flicker when I had accidentally activated it by setting the Orb of Ra into the jackal’s jaws. I stared at the stele in my hands. How on earth would one activate a stele? I wondered. I shook it slightly, but nothing happened.

I turned it over and over in my hands, looking for a small aperture such as a key might fit in, but there was nothing. If there was a way to activate this particular stele, it was a mystery to me.

After a quick glance at Henry to be sure he was well occupied (he was feinting and jabbing with a late Bronze Age ceremonial knife), I went on to the next stele. This one showed a pharaoh wearing the crown of Upper Egypt. The ibis-headed god of wisdom, Thoth, stood on one side while the falcon-headed god Horus stood on the other and appeared to be almost embracing him. Again, there was no visible means of activating it . . . but of course! It could be a much more subtle means of activation than a mechanical method. It might respond to b a or ka or something ethereal of that nature.

Once, I had accidentally breathed too close to a bronze vessel, and my breath had activated the curse hidden in inscribed hieroglyphs, causing the vessel to fill with a revolting substance reminiscent of frog slime. Leaning in close now, I breathed on the stele, then waited.

But that wasn’t the key this time. Not quite willing to give up, I carried the artifact closer to one of the gas lamps. Perhaps the flame would mimic the energy of the sun and bring any dormant curses or power to life.

“En garde!” Henry’s voice erupted in the silence, startling me. I turned toward him in time to see the point of a lance coming at my head. Without thinking, I held up the stele to ward off the blow. The lance connected with the stone tablet and sent it crashing to the floor.

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…..

So first, I had to find the right book to alter. How thrilled was I to find the above book at the library’s used book store–it’s even a translation of an Arabic poem! How perfect.

This first image was my first experiment. It’s very simple,  just a mood piece for the first book, touching on picking up Mother from the train station.

This next picture was trying to evoke the sense of showdown I knew was coming in Book Two, involving the Dreadnought, the Serpents of Chaos, and a certain prophecy regarding a red sun…

And lastly, a scene in the catacombs, with all those mummies…

While I will confess to being all thumbs when it comes to art, I do love collaging. I love the whole “found” thing aspect of the art form, the junk turned to jewels element of taking used and discarded trash and scraps and using that to create something beautiful and evocative.

It reminds me very much of writing, actually.

As a writer, I collect mental junk, a face here, a look there. The snippet of conversation I overheard at the restaurant. The scolding I heard the mother give her son at the grocery store. The surprising sight of a teenage punk driving his 80 year old grandmother around in his hyped up jalopy. A sunset. A birdsong. A remembered feeling from when I was seven years old. This is the sort of stuff writers collect in their heads, where it rolls around for years, decades sometimes, until it becomes tumbled and smoothed and juxtaposed with other things and becomes something entirely new.

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.

Over at HipWriterMama we are having a contest and giving away an Advanced Reader’s Copy of the Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus! So if you’re interested in entering, hop on over there.

But do it quickly! The contest ends Monday, November 30 at 11:00 pm EST.  Good luck!

1. When is your birthday?

September 21

2.What is your favorite color?

It changes, depending on my mood, but usually green, blue, or purple.

3. What is your favorite food?

It’s a toss up between homemade bread, popcorn, or ice cream.

4. what inspired you to write?

I’ve always enjoyed writing, ever since I was eight years old. What inspired me to write Theodosia’s story was a combination of my love of ancient Egypt and a desire to write a book I would have loved when I was eleven years old.

5. Is there a reason you named her Theodosia?

Honestly, that name just kind of popped into my head sounding very British and old fashioned, so I grabbed it. Sometimes I have to search high and low for a name and sometimes it just comes to me, that one was a “just come to me” sort of name.

6. Will you write more Theo books after the Eyes of Horus?

Yes.

7. If yes, how many? At least two.

8. What will they be called?

Right now, the working titles are, Theodosia and the Eyes of Horus, and Theodosia and the Flame of Sekhmet.

9. Do you have any pets?

I used to have lots of pets, but now only one. (For more about my earlier pets, read here.)

10. If yes, what are they and what are their names?

One very old, cranky, demonic cat named Oreo.

11. if you met me would you treat me like a little kid or a grownup based on my writing to you?

I would treat you like an equal unless you did something that forced me to treat you like a little kid (like disrupted a school presentation I was giving.) One of the reasons I write for kids, and write a character like Theo specifically, is that I DO firmly believe that kids are much smarter, wiser, and generally on top of things than they tend to get credit for.

How much do I adore these Theodosia covers?? Yoko Tanaka is a GENIUS!

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!