Theodosia and the Last Pharoah (4 page)

"Dr. Seymour Quillings. Head of the Brotherhood of Chosen Keepers Research and Development branch."

"How do you do?" I turned my gaze from the strange man back to the room behind us. "This is a lovely laboratory you have. You must do nothing but remove curses from dawn to dusk!"

He chuckled. "Not exactly. Wigmere's been telling me the most extraordinary things about you."

"Really?" That may or may not have been a good thing, I realized.

"Yes, about your remarkable abilities. Not to mention some of the very clever ideas you've been using in your work with ancient magic."

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

"I was especially fascinated by your use of wax and the moonlight. Fascinating. I've been doing some further experiments on those principles myself."

"Well, that's lovely, and I'm sure you'll find some, er, wonderful results." For all her emphasis on etiquette, Grandmother Throckmorton and her governesses neglected to teach me the proper response when discussing a person's experiments.

He stared at me a moment longer, as if I were a strange mechanism he were trying to understand, then clapped his hands together suddenly, startling me. "Well, I guess you'll be wondering why you're here?"

"I was, rather."

"Knowing the dangers and challenges you'll face, Wigmere did not want you going out unprepared. He wanted to outfit you properly for your mission."

I warmed at his words. Even from thousands of miles away, Wigmere was still looking out for me. "Excellent! What sorts of tools would those be?"

"Well, the first priority is to be sure you don't disappear. Wigmere did say you have an uncanny knack for finding trouble."

"I would have said trouble has an uncanny knack for finding me," I corrected, as the distinction seemed important.

"Either way, we don't want to lose track of you. Here, let me show you." He led me to a cluttered worktable that was full of springs and cogs and small chisels and screwdrivers the size of sewing needles. He brushed aside some brass shavings and tiny silver screws. "Here we go," he said triumphantly.

"A watch?" I inquired politely, although in truth, it was the largest, strangest,
ugliest
watch I'd ever seen. It was more than two inches thick and about three inches in diameter. A half dozen knobs protruded from its case. Honestly, it was about the size of a small wind-up clock.

"No, no. Not a watch. It is a Quillings's Homing Beacon and Curse-Repelling Device." He lifted his eyes from the contraption and gave me a worried look. "I took the liberty of naming it after myself. I don't think anyone will mind, do you?"

"I shouldn't think so. How exactly does it work?" I asked, eyeing the contraption with newfound admiration.

"Using alpha particles," Quillings proudly announced. "We have discovered that dark magic and curses give off something called alpha particles, a mild form of radiation, which is why being around them for too long can be so corrosive. I've only just this year invented something that allows us to use that phenomenon to our advantage. If you must work around a particularly vile curse, turn this knob here and it sends out a small electromagnetic pulse that repels the corrosive
heka
and allows you to escape unscathed. However, if you turn the knob this way, it acts as a homing beacon. The pattern of the alpha particles allows us to locate you with this." He held up a huge piece of photographic equipment.

"Is that a camera?"

"Not quite, but it works on the same principle. The alpha particles create a pattern on the thin film of gold inside, allowing us to track your movements that way. Wigmere wants us to keep a close eye on you."

"I daresay it can't hurt," I agreed. I took the clunky watch and strapped it to my wrist. Hoping Quillings wouldn't be offended, I tugged my sleeve down to cover it up. I looked up to find him watching me. "So my mother won't ask inconvenient questions," I explained.

His face cleared. "Ah, of course. And I see you wear gloves."

"Always," I said. "I try to minimize my contact with curses." One can never be too careful—black magic and curses have the most annoying habit of trying to work their way into one's skin.

"You might be interested in these, then." He led me over to a table against the back wall that held a small mountain of gloves. "As I said, I was very interested in the work you'd been doing with wax, and I've been conducting a few experiments. These gloves are made especially with wax-coated thread—"

I gasped. "Brilliant!"

His old cheeks pinkened. "Why, thank you. I thought it was worth a try. It works wondrously well—absorbs the curse right off an object so you can touch it if need be. The only drawback is that the gloves are a little sticky. Here. Let's find you a pair." We spent a few moments sorting through them till we found a white pair that were almost small enough for me. As I tucked them into my pocket, he motioned for me to follow him to yet another workstation in the middle of the room.

"Wigmere wanted you to have some offensive weapons at your disposal as well."

"Offensive weapons?" I repeated, not sure I'd heard correctly.

"Yes. Like this one." He picked up a gold fountain pen. "This contains a curse, a rather nasty one. It causes the recipient to suffer the agonies of a hundred scorpion stings over and over again. If you are backed into a corner, you twist it here, like so, and the inside capsule snaps apart and releases the curse. You'll need to point it at whatever you wish to use it on, then get away quickly, before it has a chance to zero in on you instead."

I stared at the pen, both fascinated and repelled. "How cunning."

"Here, take it."

With great reluctance, I reached out and gingerly took the pen.

"And lastly, this," he said, producing a fetching little silver compact, just like the one Mother uses when she powders her nose.

"Oh, it's lovely!" I said. "But I'm afraid I'm too young to wear powder."

Quillings chuckled. "Oh, trust me. You wouldn't want to wear
this
powder. This is made from ground-up sandstone collected from inside a pharaoh's tomb—"

"Which has magical properties!"

"Yes! You know of it?" He looked duly impressed.

"I do. In fact, I used it once when I was cornered by a very nasty man."

"Well then, I shall hardly have to tell you how it works. Here you go."

I stared at the compact, remembering Bollingsworth's ruined face. Slowly, I shook my head. "I don't think I should, sir."

"Why ever not?"

"It seems wrong, somehow."

"But you just said you'd used it before."

"Yes, but I'd been backed into a corner and outnumbered and there was nothing else at hand. It was a choice of last resort."

The professor looked at me oddly, almost as if he was a little disappointed in me. "I was given to understand you had used Egyptian magic quite comfortably."

"I don't know that
comfortable
is ever the right word to use regarding Egyptian magic." I eyed the pen in my hand. "I have, on occasion, been forced to use magic to ensure my own safety. But it was only making do with what was at hand. Carrying it around with me and planning to use it seems very different. Especially with such vile curses as these. Besides," I said, putting the pen back onto the table, "I don't expect I'll need it. I've only to hand off two artifacts when I first arrive in Luxor, and then the rest of my time will be spent working on my mother's dig."

Quillings looked at the pen and compact on the table, then took a step closer to me so that I was forced to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. "Do you really think it will be that easy?" he asked. "With Chaos causing riots in the streets—"

"Chaos is behind that?"

"We believe so. Someone is certainly behind it and Chaos is the most likely. You must understand, Miss Throckmorton. Things are different here on the frontlines of the fight against Chaos. The London operation that Wigmere runs is more of a last line of defense. It is designed to catch whatever slips through our grasp. But here in the field, we take a much more active approach when we come face-to-face with evil."

His words sent a chill down my back.

"Now, take these." He took the pen and compact from the table and put them firmly in my hand. "And do not be afraid to use them. Remember, it is not only your life you are protecting, Miss Throckmorton, but the lives of countless innocents who do not even suspect that such hideous magic exists or what it would do if unleashed in their midst."

Reluctantly, my fingers closed around the items, and then I quickly dropped them into my pocket, as if they were hot. I was suddenly desperate to be away from Quillings and his sinister laboratory. "Is that all, sir? I should probably get back to my mother. She didn't have
that
much to discuss with Monsieur Maspero."

Quillings looked at me steadily, as if he knew perfectly well why I wanted to leave. "Of course. But do remember one thing. It's different here, where we live side by side with the ancient mysteries." Then he bade me goodbye and wished me Godspeed.

Slowly, with my head whirling, I made my way back to the public part of the museum. I couldn't make up my mind about Quillings and his thoughts on how to combat Chaos. It seemed too much like the methods Chaos themselves used.

I
did
envy him his laboratory, however. Just think of how many curses I could remove with all of that equipment!

I'd reached the door that led back to the storage closet and cautiously poked my head through. Bing wasn't waiting for me in the closet, so I stepped out into the hall.

An unfamiliar gentleman loitered in the corridor. As soon as he saw me, he hurried over. "Bing sent me," he explained. "He has been detained by Maspero and asked that I escort you back to your mother."

"And who did you say you were?" I asked, giving him a nudge to use the code phrase.

There was a flash of annoyance in the other man's face, just a second-too-long pause before he answered. "I am Carruthers."

That was it. Simply "Carruthers." No mention that he had come from the West. Slowly, I began to back away from him.

The stranger lowered his brow in a scowl and took a step toward me just as Bing himself came round the corner. "Oh, are you done, then? I was just coming to fetch you."

The stranger, realizing the gig was up, leaped forward, grabbed for my arm with one hand, and fumbled at his jacket with the other.

CHAPTER FOUR

Come Into My Parlor
, Said the Spider to the Fly

I
DIDN'T STICK AROUND LONG ENOUGH
to see what he was reaching for. I grasped the cords of my reticule, then swung it down—hard—against his knuckles. He gave a shout of surprise and relaxed his grip. I jerked away and darted down the nearest hall. "Be careful!" I called to Bing. "I think he's got a weapon!" Then I clamped my mouth shut and took the next corner at full tilt.

The exhibits,
I thought. I needed to get to the exhibits where there'd be loads of people. He'd have a hard time snatching me if others were watching. I ran as silently as I could, which was hard in the echoing marble halls of the museum. I stayed up on my toes as much as possible, which helped keep my footsteps quieter but made my calves scream in agony. I turned a corner, then another, and the shouts of the men faded behind me.

I took another turn and found myself in a gallery, which meant I must have crossed the full length of the museum. Pursuing footsteps sounded behind me. Not waiting to see who it was, I tore down the stairs to the ground floor, afraid a huge, hairy hand would reach out from behind and snatch me at any moment.

At the bottom of the stairs, I darted into a room full of magnificent jewelry (New Kingdom, seventeenth century BC). Unfortunately, the room was empty, so there were no witnesses among whom I could lose myself. However, the display cases were enormous, so I threw myself behind the nearest one and tried to breathe as softly as I could, even though my lungs were begging for air.

There was the squeak of shoe leather on the polished floor and I felt the pursuer's
ka,
or life force, hovering in the doorway. I quickly cast my eyes downward so he wouldn't feel me looking back at him and held my breath.

After a long moment, the footsteps moved on down the hallway. Allowing myself to breathe a little more deeply, I waited another five minutes to be certain he wouldn't double back. Finally, with great reluctance, I crept out of my hiding place and inched toward the doorway, careful to keep close to the wall and out of sight. When I slowly stuck my neck out to check the hallway, I nearly screamed as I came eyeball to eyeball with a pair of rapidly blinking eyes.

"Mr. Bing!" I gasped in relief, putting my hand up to keep my heart from thudding right out of my chest.

"This way, miss," he said, keeping his voice low. "Let's get you back to Maspero's office."

"What happened to Carruthers?" I asked, falling into step alongside him.

"He made his way to the front exit and got out that way. I sent one of the guards after him, but he had a decent head start, so I'm not hopeful."