Theodosia and the Last Pharoah (22 page)

Sefu didn't help at all by scampering on ahead, then doubling back to be certain we were following. Every time he disappeared, I feared I'd never see him again. Then whenever he did reappear, it made my heart stutter.

In the end, he became quite distraught when he realized we weren't going to keep following him and pitched a raucous fit in the middle of the street. Dark, curious gazes turned in our direction. "Shh!" I told him. "I can't help Gadji alone. We'll need help."

He either understood or gave up, because he stopped making his racket and fell into step (more or less) beside me.

By the time we reached the major's bungalow, I was damp with perspiration and beginning to wonder just how much trouble I'd be in with him. All the lights were off save one toward the back, which I guessed to be his study. Squaring my shoulders, I knocked softly on the front door.

There was a long moment of silence, and then finally I heard the faint sound of footfalls coming from the back of the house. The door opened, and there stood Major Grindle himself, holding a lantern.

"Miss Throckmorton!" he exclaimed, scowling ferociously when he saw I was alone. "I distinctly remember telling you that you were not to move about this city alone."

"You did, sir." I bravely met his eye. "But I had no way to get a message to you, and it is rather urgent that we speak. Plus, I brought Isis with me. She can be surprisingly effective as a deterrent." I lifted the leash in my hand and the major's gaze followed it to the ground, where it was tied around Isis's neck.

"A cat is
not
protection."

"You don't know Isis, sir," I muttered. "Besides, Awi Bubu thought there was more to her than a simple feline. Not," I hurried to add, "that any feline can truly be called simple."

The major still looked highly skeptical.

"I assure you, sir, once you hear my reason for coming, you'll understand. May I come in?" I asked in a small voice.

"Yes, yes, of course. I am interested in knowing what is so important that you must risk life and limb to tell me." He moved aside to let me pass. Just as he started to close the door behind me, a small, scampering shape darted through and disappeared down the darkened hallway. "What, in the name of all that is holy, was that?"

"Gadji's monkey, sir. You see, that's why I've come. I'm afraid Gadji's been kidnapped."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Major Grindle's Magic Study

M
AJOR
G
RINDLE GOT VERY SERIOUS,
very quickly. "How do you know this?"

I fished in my pocket and handed him the ransom note. "They left this on my pillow."

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he took the note from me. After reading it, he gave a brisk nod. "Chaos, of course. But what is this Emerald Tablet they are demanding?"

"Perhaps we should sit down, sir. It's rather a long story."

"Very well. We might as well get comfortable. I suspect we've a long night ahead of us."

As I entered his study, I shuddered as the wave of riotous, jumbled magics assailed me. Isis paused in the doorway, every hair on her body standing on end, while Sefu leaped up into the air as if he'd been bitten. He landed on Major Grindle's desk, shaking his head and clacking his teeth.

"What's wrong with him?" Major Grindle asked.

"I don't think he cares for the otherworldly atmosphere in the room, sir." I tugged Isis gently into the room, then settled myself on one of the chairs facing the major's desk. "Do you mind if I unleash Isis? She's not terribly fond of the restraint."

He waved his hand to indicate for me to do as I pleased, then leaned back in his own chair. I unfastened the leash from around Isis's neck, and she began prowling cautiously around the room.

"The tablet?" Major Grindle prompted.

"Well, yes. You see, that was the item I was returning to the men you met at the Luxor Temple."

He raised a grizzled eyebrow at me. "Part of that deathbed promise, Miss Throckmorton?"

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"They did not seem very happy to have it back," he pointed out.

I frowned. "They were, actually. It was only that they got sidetracked with wanting to get Gadji back as well. According to Awi Bubu, they valued the tablet most highly. They would have done a lot"—like forgive someone, I thought—"to have it in their possession once again."

"So what is it,
exactly?
" he asked. "And why is Chaos so intent on having it?"

I waged a small war with myself. I was not supposed to tell anyone of the tablet's true purpose, but Gadji's life was at stake, a life that, by all accounts, Awi Bubu should value more than anyone. Not only that, Gadji was my friend. Hopefully, Awi Bubu would understand. "It is an encoded map, sir. A map that leads to the hidden cache of the artifacts of the gods, the ones that were hidden by the ancient priests of Egypt thousands and thousands of years ago. Artifacts with such power that they make the orb of Ra look like a child's toy."

Major Grindle grew still. "Are you serious, Miss Throckmorton?"

"Most serious, sir. And now Chaos has taken Gadji in the hopes that we'll be so desperate to have him back, we'll be willing to give up the tablet. Which I no longer have."

"Well, we'd better hope those men from the temple don't get wind of this or they'll have our guts for garters," he said dryly.

"Don't we need to tell them so we can get the tablet from them?"

"I have no intention of putting that tablet in the hands of Chaos. The havoc they could wreak doesn't bear thinking about." His tone left no room for argument.

"But what about Gadji, sir? We have to get him back. And not just because they think he might be their pharaoh. He's my friend and has saved me more than a time or two." My voice wobbled at the end, and I had to clear my throat.

Major Grindle gave a crisp nod. "And that is the best reason of all. We'll work something out." He turned his attention from me to the monkey on his desk. "Is this creature going to sit here all evening?"

"I have no idea, sir." Isis, on the other hand, appeared to have fallen in love with the major's leopard skin rug. She sat face-to-face with it, staring into its glass eyes, purring loudly.

Major Grindle muttered something about a zoo, then got up and went to his shelves. Sefu followed, leaping to a shelf just above the major's head.

Ignoring the monkey, the major began searching among the things on one shelf. "Have any of the Serpents of Chaos seen the tablet up close before?"

"No, sir."

"Perfect." He removed an old, unremarkable stele, a brass chafing dish, a large brick of beeswax, and a chisel that looked to be from the Old Kingdom. "I think that ought to do it." He saw me staring at the chisel and leaned in close. "It belonged to Ptah, Miss Throckmorton."

I gasped. "How do you come to have it? Shouldn't it be in the Brotherhood's vault?"

"It was a personal gift and bears no curse or dark magic, only a small power of making."

Of course, because Ptah was the maker god.

"Miss Throckmorton, may I suggest you take that turban away from your monkey? If he puts it on his head, he will either go up like a cinder or become possessed of an evil sorcerous spirit. Neither one is what we need this evening."

"Yes, sir!" I jumped forward and gingerly removed the battered yellow turban from the monkey's tiny hands. As I replaced it on the shelf, Sefu turned and grabbed a small bronze bell with an ebony handle.

"Careful—he'll wake the dead, Miss Throckmorton."

For some reason, I was certain he'd meant that literally. I quickly took the bell away and picked up the monkey. He wasn't thrilled to have me holding him, but he didn't attack me or try to escape, either. In truth, he clung to me a bit, like a baby might have.

Major Grindle returned to his desk and rummaged around for a piece of paper and a pencil. "Could you sketch me a copy of what the tablet looked like?" he asked.

"Certainly." Juggling Sefu in my left arm, I sat down at the major's desk and began drawing.

As I sketched, Major Grindle began working at a long table against the wall. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he laid the stele down on the table. Then he pulled the brass chafing dish close, lit a candle under it, and put the beeswax in the dish.

"How's that sketch coming, Miss Throckmorton?"

I quickly turned back to the paper. "Almost done," I chirped, blushing furiously at being caught not minding my own business.

"Excellent."

I put the finishing touches on the drawing, then hopped to my feet and carried it over to him. "Here you are, sir."

He took the drawing from me, glanced at it, then narrowed his eyes. "Thoth, eh?"

"Yes, sir. And Horus. It looks as if Thoth is giving Horus something, although I can't make out what, exactly. The glyphs are Chaldean," I pointed out helpfully.

He cocked an eyeball at me. "I know Chaldean when I see it, Miss Throckmorton."

"Sorry, sir."

However, I quickly forgot my embarrassment and became absorbed in what the major was doing. When the beeswax had fully melted, he took a pair of tongs, grabbed hold of the stone tablet, and dipped it into the wax. When he pulled it back out, a thin layer of the white wax clung to its surface. He repeated the process three times until the tablet was thickly coated.

Once it had cooled, he laid it on the table, picked up the chisel, and very carefully began to re-create the images and glyphs from the original Emerald Tablet.

I craned my neck to see better. He'd managed a very good likeness, but I didn't think the wax was going to fool anybody.

"I'm not done yet," he said, a faint tinge of annoyance in his voice.

Was he reading my mind? "I know you're not, sir."

Next, he unstoppered a small jar and shook out a few grains of something into a shallow dish. I was dying to ask what the granules were, but I was afraid he would shoo me away if I reminded him I was there.

"Grains of sandstone from the inside of a pharaoh's tomb," he said, as if hearing my unspoken question.

"Thank you, sir. I
was
wondering."

"I know," he said dryly. "I could practically hear you."

Well, he didn't expect me to be incurious, did he? Not with such fascinating procedures going on right in front of my nose.

He took a feather—an ibis feather, I thought—and dipped the nib end into the sandstone granules, then began to write on the wax. He wasn't pressing very hard—in fact, only the barest marks showed. They looked like hieroglyphs, but no matter how closely I watched, I wasn't able to recognize any of them.

At last he was done and set the feather down. "One last step," he said, then lifted the top off a small box and took a pinch from it. "Powdered silver," he told me, "to call upon the power of the moon." He sprinkled it over the coating of the inscribed wax. He took another pinch of something—"powdered copper, for the green color"—and sprinkled that over the wax as well.

The effect was shocking and immediate. The symbols Major Grindle had drawn on the surface began swarming and writhing, moving in rippling waves. Sensing the magical activity, Isis lifted her nose from the leopard rug and watched.

As the glyphs moved, the wax began to discolor slightly and take on a different texture altogether. It also began to turn dull green, just like the original tablet. Within minutes, the mysterious symbols had disappeared, transforming the once-ordinary stone into a near-exact replica of the Emerald Tablet.

"Brilliant, sir!" No wonder he hadn't thought we'd need to bother the wedjadeen for the original.

"Thank you. However, the silver will only cleave the magic to the wax until the setting of the moon. After that, the deception will be revealed."

"We'd best hope the moon doesn't set before midnight, then," I said.

"It doesn't." He fished around under the table for some old scraps of leather and began wrapping the tablet in them.

"However did you learn that particular piece of magic? I've never seen anything like it in the papyruses I've read."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "Read many, have you?"

"Yes, actually."

His lips twisted in a brief grin. "Chip off the old block," he muttered, and I swelled with unexpected pride.

"One of our brightest and bravest Keepers spent some time with a mysterious tribe in the desert—I'm guessing the very same tribe those men you know belong to—and learned a great deal of arcane magic at their hands. He recorded a few of the rubrics in his journals. Reginald Mayhew was his name."

"Mayhew?" I asked sharply.

For the first time, Major Grindle took his eyes from the faux tablet and stared at me intently. "Yes, why? Have you heard of him?"

"Yes," I admitted. According to Wigmere, it was Mayhew who had snatched the cache of artifacts out of the hands of the French and had them shipped to England, where they'd eventually been purchased by Augustus Munk and ended up in our basement. "But Wigmere hadn't said he was a Chosen Keeper." Oops. Had I said that last part out loud?