Theodosia & the Eyes of Horus (23 page)

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closed the coffin. "That's right decent of you, miss. I'll take him back now."

***

Before I'd even ventured down to breakfast the next morning, I heard Mother shriek, "Henry! Your hair!"

I yanked my frock over my head and ran downstairs to the dining room. Henry stood behind his chair as Mother stared at him in concern. Father was talking, and he didn't sound too happy. "What on earth have you done, young man?"

Being called young
anything
always boded ill.

"I-I," Henry stammered and then threw me a pleading look. That, at least, was a good sign. It meant he wasn't going to hang me out to dry.

"He got lemon juice in it," I said as I stepped into the room. "After you left the kitchen yesterday, Mum, we began playing at being ...alchemists. And, as alchemists, we pretended we were creating a formula that would turn lead into gold."

"And what was in this alchemical formula of yours?" Father asked.

"Lemon juice. And vinegar. And a bunch of other things I can't remember," I said. "Maybe oils. I think we used some of the oils from the pantry." It seemed smart to add that last

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bit, just in case anyone ever noticed that all the various oils in the house had been moved. The truth was, by the time we got home last night, it was so late and I was so tired, I couldn't remember where I'd gotten which sacred oil.

Father's mustache twitched, and I couldn't tell if it was in frustration or in amusement. "I guess we should just be grateful
your
hair didn't turn white. Or fall out." He turned a stern eye on Henry. "I hope you've learned your lesson about meddling in unsupervised scientific experiments."

Henry hung his head. "Yes, sir."

"Very good. Now, let's enjoy this wonderful Easter breakfast Cook has prepared for us."

Other than that incident, Easter Sunday was lovely. We all got dressed up in our best finery, Mum and I wore our Easter bonnets, and we went to church. Being inside a church feels a lot like being inside a museum; the air feels heavier, more important somehow, as if the weight of all that spiritual worship were somehow physical. Henry fidgeted a bit until I gave him a piece of wax I found in one of my dress pockets. He played with that until the service was over.

After church we had a special luncheon. Mum had even invited Uncle Andrew, which was a wonderful balance to Grandmother Throckmorton, who showed up in her black mourning clothes, a beady-eyed crow to the rest of us cheerful spring bluebirds. I did my best to ignore her and reminded

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myself that she had no idea the man she was mourning was neither dead nor a hero.

After we ate, we collected the baskets we had decorated and hunted for the eggs Mum had hidden. It would have been an absolutely perfect day if not for the small lump of dread and nerves sitting in my stomach. Although I was thrilled to have Henry back to normal--if a bit peaked and subdued--I was terrified that it might all go to pieces at the funeral if our ruse was discovered. Polite society had been most put out when they'd found a fake mummy at one of their receptions; I could only imagine how they'd react if they came across one at a solemn occasion like a memorial service.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO SOPCOATE'S MEMORIAL SERVICE

***

THE CHURCH GRANDMOTHER HAD FOUND was very grand, even if it wasn't Westminster Abbey. It had enormously high ceilings with stained glass windows that cast pools of green, red, and gold light down on everyone. Rows of columns lined the aisles of the church, and organ music filled the empty spaces high above.

To my great relief, the casket was already in place up near the altar. Henry and I exchanged a glance, his lock of white hair a comforting reminder of why I'd had to do what I'd done.

For Grandmother's sake, I was pleased to see that the church was nearly full. There were many men in naval uniforms,

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including a number of rough-looking sailors in the very back. The crowd fell silent as a long, sorrowful note came from the organ, and the service began.

The reverend talked about ashes to ashes, dust to dust (which doesn't make much sense when you're speaking of someone who'd been lost at sea), and the bombazine of my mourning dress itched horribly. The black gloves I'd been handed by the page were far too big and made my hands look large and misshapen. I tried to tug them tighter. Next to me, Henry fidgeted, but I said nothing as I was half certain that tugging at one's gloves and sleeves also qualified as fidgeting. Then I caught Father looking at me out of the corner of his eye and did my best to hold absolutely still.

Just as the reverend got to the part about leaving all our worldly desires behind, I had the distinct sensation that I was being watched. Moving slowly so as not to attract Father's attention, I turned to look behind me. The sea of faces were all staring intently at the minister.

"Quit fidgeting," Father hissed.

I pulled my gaze from the back of the church and stared dutifully forward, vowing to at least look as if I were paying attention, if not for Sopcoate's sake, then for Grandmother's. I occupied myself by coming up with a plan just in case anyone opened the casket or noticed how heavy it was.

Just when I'd decided that a fainting spell would be the

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only way to halt a disaster, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stirred again. I reached up and rubbed them, hoping it was just the stiff, wretched fabric of my collar. But no. The sensation increased until my shoulders positively itched with it. Someone was definitely watching me. I could feel their
ka
focused on me, and I did not like it one bit.

However, I dared not risk turning around again. First, it would call too much attention to myself and alert whoever it was that I was onto him. Second, Father was watching me again.

When at last the service was nearly over, Grandmother stood up and held out her hand to Father. He took her arm and escorted her up to the coffin. She paused with her hand lingering over the casket, and my heart leaped into my throat. Would she open it?

Her fingers touched the casket, and then she picked up a spray of lilies and laid it over the top. She bent her head as the minister said a final prayer.

My knees went weak. We'd done it! The funeral was over and no one had discovered our secret. I closed my eyes, said one last quick prayer for Mr. Tetley's soul, and wished him peace. When I opened my eyes again, I found Henry smiling at me. I smiled back, nearly giddy with relief.

The congregation rose from their seats and began making

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their way outside. As I walked the length of the cathedral to the open doors, I paid close attention to the crowd, trying to identify whoever had been staring at me so fiercely.

Once outside, people milled about on the steps, chatting with one another and murmuring kind thoughts about Admiral Sopcoate, who didn't deserve a single one of them. As they all mingled, I continued to search the faces as unobtrusively as possible.

Mother and Father were deep in conversation with Grandmother and someone from the admiralty. Henry had planted himself at the far side of the church steps, taken a tin soldier out of his pocket, and was quietly playing with it. He still looked pale, I thought, as if he were just getting over a long illness.

I'd had no luck identifying the person who'd been staring at me, and I was considering joining Henry on the cathedral steps when I caught a furtive movement out of the corner of my eye.

An old sailor with white hair and beard looked away quickly, as if he didn't want me to know he'd been watching me. Why would he be watching me?

He glanced in my direction again and our eyes met briefly. He had a patch over one eye and there was something almost familiar about him. Although, truthfully, it was very

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difficult to tell sailors apart. In their uniforms and spit and polish, they all looked confusingly alike unless you knew them. Had he served on the
Dreadnought,
by chance? Had I met him there?

He turned and began limping away as if hurrying somewhere important.

I decided to follow the sailor to the corner, just to be sure he wasn't up to no good.

I'd taken no more than two steps when a wave of sensation, like a hundred beetles marching along my spine, swept over me. The sensation was so strong that if I'd been at the museum, I'd have immediately conducted a Second Level Test. Could the sailor have a cursed artifact on him?

I glanced at all the unprotected people gathered near the church then quickly hurried to the street corner. I turned onto the side street, but there was no one in sight. No old sailor, no cursed artifact. Just as I began to leave, a bulky shape stepped out of a recess in a wall and said, "Gotcha!"

I started and then stared in puzzlement at the old sailor, who was tucking an amulet back into a box. As soon as he shut the lid, the beetle sensation along my back stopped. He smiled at me through his salty white beard. "I knew that would get your attention."

At my blank look, he added, "Curiosity
did
kill the cat, you know."

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May I just say that it is not a good sign when someone begins a conversation that way?

"What's the matter, don't you recognize me, Theo?"

How did he know my name? His voice was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Have we met--oh!"

The sailor lifted the eye patch and I found myself staring into the face of Admiral Sopcoate. "You!" I breathed, shocked to the very core of my being.

"Me, Theo. In the flesh. Lovely of your grandmother to organize such a fancy memorial service for me. I couldn't have planned a better one myself. A ripping good time, hearing what everyone had to say about me."

I thought of all the naval men just around the corner who'd have raised no end of questions at the admiral's reappearance. I could hardly credit the man's daring. "Is that why you're here? Curiosity?"

"No, not curiosity. That was just an added benefit. I'm afraid I'm here to pay you a little visit."

Oh dear. It was never good news when a Serpent of Chaos wished to pay one a visit. It was then that it occurred to me that he might have the others with him. I glanced behind me.

"I'm quite alone," he said. "Well, me and Mr. Webley here." He patted his pocket.

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"Who?" I hadn't met a Serpent of Chaos named Webley.

"Webley," he repeated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. Slowly he raised it so it was pointing at my chest.

My insides felt like runny custard. "What do you want?" I asked, trying to sound as if having a gun pointed at me were no big thing.

"You mean, other than revenge?"

I tried to swallow but found my mouth was too dry.

"Luckily for you, there is something we want more than revenge, Theo. Something we want very badly. Something you can give to us and thus assure you'll live to be twelve."

"What's that?" I croaked.

He leaned forward. "The Emerald Tablet."

I blinked in surprise. Honestly! Had someone taken out an advertisement in the
Times?
How did everyone know we had the wretched thing? I opened my mouth to protest that I didn't have it, but he waved the gun at me. "I'm fairly sure one of your lovely governesses must have warned against lying." He laughed, an ugly sound. How had I ever thought he was jolly?

"W-why do you want it? It just talks about alchemy. Surely the Serpents of Chaos don't believe they can turn lead into gold," I scoffed.

"Or maybe you're not as smart as you think you are.

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Maybe it has powers and properties that the great, meddlesome Theodosia doesn't know about." "What does it do then?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that is on a need-to-know basis, my dear. And quite frankly, you have no need to know." He took a step closer. "What you do need to know is that we will do anything--anything--to get our hands on it. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Very well. Bring the tablet to Cleopatra's Needle on Friday afternoon. Let's say around five o'clock, shall we? During your parents' exhibit opening? I think that should provide a nice diversion and allow you to slip away unnoticed, don't you?" He brought the pistol up higher, so that it was pointed directly at my face. "Be there. If you fail to deliver it, my dear, not only will
your
life be in danger, but that of your grandmother as well. How do you think she will take to the fact that she invited half the admiralty to the funeral of a traitor?" He laughed again, and my skin fairly curdled off my bones.

"Theo? Theo, where've you gotten to?" Mother's voice came from just around the corner. She must have come looking for me. And as much as I wanted her to find me, I did
not
want her to find Admiral Sopcoate's pistol.

Sopcoate took a step back and waved the gun in Mother's