Miss Chittle swallowed nervously, then glanced at me. "It wasn't?"
"No." I pointed to the empty wall behind her. "That's where the mummies normally go."
Miss Chittle put her hand to her mouth and stepped back. It was hard to tell in the flickering light, but she looked a bit pale. "H-how do you think they got downstairs?"
I shrugged. "We're not sure. Someone probably carried them down. They don't weigh much, you know. Nothing but dried-up husks. All the important parts were taken out. Some through their noses."
She looked at me with an expression of horror. I stepped closer. "Did you know that the embalmers removed the deceased's internal organs, including their brains, during the embalming process?"
She shook her head, stirring up a faint cloud of sherry fumes.
I warmed to my subject. "They inserted long hooks up their noses and pulled the brains out through the nostrils." I flared mine at her, just for emphasis.
Miss Chittle placed her hand briefly on her stomach, then turned her back to me. Craning my neck, I watched her
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remove a small silver flask from her purse. She lifted it to her lips and took a few swallows, daintily dabbing at the corner of her mouth when she was done. She slipped the flask back into her purse, then faced me again. "Medicine," she explained briskly, not meeting my eyes. "For my nerves."
I refrained from snorting, but just barely. "Over here," I continued, "are Canopic jars. They're where they stored the deceased's liver, lungs, intestines, and stomach."
Miss Chittle moved away sharply and bumped into the sarcophagus.
"Careful there," I said cheerfully.
A faint hint of panic sprang into her eyes. She whirled around and headed toward the wall on her left. "Oh." Her voice was unnaturally high. "Here's a charming statue. A cat."
"Uh, no. That's not a statue. That's my cat, and she doesn't like to be--"
My words were cut off as Isis arched her back, hissed, then took a vicious swipe at Miss Chittle's gloved hand. "--touched by strangers," I finished.
Miss Chittle squealed and jerked her hand back. Without another word, she lifted her skirts and ran from the room.
I looked back at Isis, who now sat as calmly as you please, licking her paw. "You didn't like her either, I take it?"
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Ignoring me, Isis leaped off the column and streaked toward a floorboard in the far corner. Another mouse, probably. Well, she'd done her good turn for the day. I supposed she'd earned a hunting break.
Before I had a chance to dwell on my victory, Father's voice cut through the museum. "Theodosia Elizabeth Throckmorton! Get down here this instant!"
Oh dear. Time to face the music.
Reluctantly, I headed for the stairs. I wasn't dawdling. Not exactly. Just giving Father a bit of time to calm down.
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CHAPTER EIGHT A LONG SHOT
***
THERE WAS A SMALL CROWD IN THE FOYER --all waiting for me, apparently. Admiral Sopcoate was holding Miss Chittle's coat for her and she was trying to shove her arm into the sleeve--only, she was shaking so badly, she kept missing. "You didn't tell me the girl was mad as a hatter!" she said, making a final stab with her arm and managing to get it into the sleeve this time.
"Really, she's not mad, just very high spirited," Father said. I was heartened by his loyal support of me.
"Nonsense," Grandmother harrumphed. "The girl has far too much freedom, and her head has been stuffed with so much ridiculous learning as to make her useless."
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Before Grandmother could get on a roll cataloging all of my faults, I interrupted her.
"Perhaps Miss Chittle should have some more of her medicine," I suggested sweetly.
Isis rubbed up against my ankles, but I kept my attention fixed on Miss Chittle as all the blood drained from her face. I felt a small twinge of guilt, but she did want me removed from the museum, something too dangerous to contemplate.
"Medicine?" Grandmother asked, her sharp gaze zeroing in on the younger woman. Miss Chittle had gotten both her arms into her sleeves by now and stood ready to bolt.
Grandmother sniffed. Her eyes widened, and then she sniffed again. Her eyebrows shot up. "Spirits, Miss Chittle?" Her voice rang out through the foyer.
As the governess blinked in alarm, Isis left my ankles and went over to comfort her. Perhaps Isis was trying to make up? But wait! What was that in her mouth? Before I could do a thing about it, Isis dropped a small, wet, bedraggled ball of fur onto the toe of Miss Chittle's lovely kidskin boot.
Eyes wild, Miss Chittle looked down at her shoe, shrieked, and, before I could explain it was a peace offering, kicked her foot and flung the poor mouse clear across the room. It struck one of the last remaining mummies smack in the middle of the forehead, then tumbled to the floor.
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"I say, good shot, Miss Chittle!" Admiral Sopcoate called out, but she was already running toward the front door.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Father snickered. Grandmother rounded on him, irritation snapping in her eyes. "Don't encourage her! She just chased off another governess--and drove her to drink in under an hour!"
Honestly! That was so clearly not my fault.
"Now, now, Lavinia," the admiral soothed. "Clearly the young woman had too nervous a disposition for this sort of job. You need to find a governess with a little more backbone."
Hear, hear, I thought but kept to myself.
Grandmother straightened her back and raised her chin a bit. "And I shall," she promised.
When everything fell quiet again, Father asked, "Theodosia, don't you have some work to do?"
"Yes, sir. I'll get right on that. It was very nice to see you again, sir," I said to the admiral. "Ma'am." I curtsied at Grandmother, then left. Really, there's nothing like Grandmother Throckmorton to put something as ghastly as catacombs into perspective.
***
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I shivered when I opened the door that led down to long-term storage. The air was definitely disturbed. Something was afoot. I reached under the collar of my dress and pulled my three amulets out into the open, where I could clutch them in my hand. (I don't know if that actually made their protective magic any stronger, but it made me feel better.)
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, the sense of wrongness was overwhelming. Especially once I noticed that the entire right-hand wall was empty.
All the mummies that had been there the day before were gone.
I frowned. I was sure I hadn't seen them upstairs with the others. Still mulling over this puzzle, I turned to the left side of the room and squeaked.
All seven mummies from the right wall were now over by the left wall. But they weren't leaning up against it; they were standing free, looking down at the ground, as if paying homage to something on the floor.
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CHAPTER NINE WAKING THE DEAD
***
MY HEART THUDDING IN MY CHEST , I inched my way over to see what they were bowing to. When I finally worked my way around the last mummy (careful not to touch it), I saw the magician's staff I'd discovered the day before, still lying on the floor where I'd left it.
Keeping my eyes on the mummies the whole time, I squatted down and picked up the staff. As I rose, I heard a rustling and a creaking. One by one, each of the mummies' heads turned in my direction.
It was the staff that had called the mummies closer! The staff that had made the mummies upstairs leave their museums and private collections to gather here!
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The realization struck me like a hammer.
I would have to get word to Wigmere at once. And I needed to figure out what exactly it was that I'd discovered. Something that had power over the dead, that was clear. But what? And why? And how much power?
And what was I to do with the wretched staff in the meantime? If I took it with me, would the mummies follow me up the stairs?
I took three steps forward t
o test it. Sure enough, every single mummy shuffled along behind me.
I nearly burst into tears. What did it all mean? Had their ba, or souls, returned to their bodies? Were they merely reanimated, such as the zombies of western Africa? The enormity of what I didn't know was staggering.
But it was clear that I would have to leave the staff down here with the mummies for the time being.
I hid the staff behind some shelving and backed away cautiously, half afraid the mummies would be attracted to my ka and follow me. But they had eyes only for the staff.
Once I was clear of the mummies, I gave in to the urge to run--not walk--up the stairs. When I reached the top landing, I breathed a sigh of relief.
It was time, definitely time, for a little research. Or rather, piles and piles of it.
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***
I searched the reading room and quickly found what I was looking for on the shelves. My arms full of books, I headed for my small carrel, then shut the door with my foot. I didn't need anyone looking over my shoulder or surprising me. My poor nerves had had quite enough excitement already.
The first book I opened looked promising-- Mummies and Their Secrets by Sir Lynn N. Bandage. He'd studied hundreds of mummies and conducted a number of mummification experiments of his own. The book contained a recipe for making a mummy (it took at least seventy days and either bitumen or natron salts) but nothing about what might have power over one. I put that book aside and reached for another one.
A Dark Journey Through the Egyptian Underworld by Mordecai Black talked quite a bit about all the demons one must safely pass before reaching the Egyptian afterlife, called Duat, along with spells and charms needed to pass them, but again, nothing that would serve my purposes and no mention of a staff.
Finally, I found a small tidbit in The Rites of the Dead by Sir Roger Mortis. Anubis, the jackal-headed god of embalming, sits at the right hand of Osiris.
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Now, of course I knew all about Anubis and Osiris, but I'd never heard it phrased that particular way before, that Anubis sits at the right hand of Osiris. What if that wasn't a figure of speech but a description? The staff did have a jackal's head and could be a representation of Anubis. So, what if the staff was something that Osiris held in his right hand?
Hoping that I had finally found some answers, I turned the page to read more, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. "Theodosia?" It was Edgar Stilton.
"Yes?"
Edgar entered and glanced quickly around the room, a tic starting on the left side of his jaw. "Your parents are looking for you. They're getting ready to leave for the day."
Bother. Just when I'd caught the scent! "Thank you, Stilton. I'll be right there." I stood and closed the book so no one would be able to see what exactly I'd been looking up, then left the room. Just outside I paused, then plucked a hair from my head and inserted it above the door latch after I had shut it tight. If anyone snuck in and examined my study materials, I'd know it. I have to say I was greatly relieved that we wouldn't be spending the night here at the museum with a staff that literally had the power to wake the dead.
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CHAPTER TEN HERE, MOUSY, MOUSY...
***
WHEN WE ARRIVED at THE MUSEUM the next morning to find no one waiting on the steps for us, Father's mood improved considerably. In fact, he was so cheered that he completely missed the racking shudder that ran through me the moment I stepped inside. Drat it all! The newest restless spirit had hopped off the mummy it rode in on and was now lurking in our foyer.
Of course, no one else noticed a thing. Mother and Father immediately headed up to their workroom, hoping to get in a full day's work and make up for lost time.
I, however, lingered in the foyer, hoping for the chance to
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conduct a Level Two Test on the mut --the dangerous dead-- left by the mummy. If I could pinpoint the restless spirit's location, I could remove it.
Except the foyer was bustling with activity. Dolge, Sweeny, and two other porters were still lugging mummies down to Receiving. Odd. I thought they had made better progress the day before. Perhaps there were simply more of them than I had realized.
I was glad to see they were wearing the same coveralls as before. With luck, the wedjat eyes would still be in their pockets, offering them protection.
Dolge grunted and lifted a linen-wrapped form while Sweeny grabbed the other end. "I swear these ruddy things are multiplying like rabbits," Sweeny said.
Dolge muttered, "Watch out. Keep yer head low. Here comes His Nibs."
Both he and Sweeny ducked their heads and got very busy moving the mummy into the hall, only just managing to miss Vicary Weems as he came storming around the corner, a cowed Stilton and defiant Fagenbush trailing after him.
"See?" Weems thrust out his arm toward the wall. "This is what I'm talking about. I distinctly told you to return them to their exhibits yesterday, yet here they remain. Which leads me to ask, what were you doing with your time yesterday, if not attending to the tasks I'd set you?"
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What rubbish! Surely the idiot was just making up excuses to reprimand them--I myself had seen both of them the day before, returning the mummies to their exhibits.
Except when I looked, I saw that, indeed, all our mummies were still in the foyer. How suspicious! Unless ...
Unless they had been moved yesterday, but they'd returned this morning by the power of the staff? That would explain why no one had made any progress ...
My musings were interrupted by a knock on the front door. "See who it is, Stilton," Weems ordered.
Stilton flinched, tugged on his ear, then went to go open the door. It was Inspector Turnbull. I slipped into the shadows behind one of the marble pillars.
The inspector took one look around the foyer. "Can't you lot hurry it up? I've got irate keepers and private collectors breathing down my neck."
Weems stepped forward. "I'm sorry, sir. I've told the men to hurry, but you know how employees are."
Turnbull shot him a look from under his thunderous eyebrows. "Where's Throckmorton? I've got a few more questions for him."
"No doubt," Weems said in a way that made me want to slug him. "I'll send Stilton along to find him. Won't you have a seat?"
"No, I think I'll go find him myself. Lead the way," he said
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to Stilton. Stilton shot a questioning glance at Weems, who shooed them along.
While I would have loved to have heard Turnbull's conversation with my parents, the returning mummies gave renewed urgency to my research. I hurried to my stack of books.
***
I planned to focus that day's research on Osiris, looking specifically for any mention of his staff. Before I opened the door to my carrel, I checked to see if my single hair was still above the door latch. It was. My studies were undisturbed.
The first book I opened was Osiris: Lord of the Underworld. The author, Anatole Quillings, wrote, Osiris is not only the god of the Underworld and afterlife, but also of resurrection. It is to him that the Egyptians direct their prayers, hoping they will be resurrected in the afterlife.
Hmmm. Were mummies getting up and walking the same as being resurrected? If not, surely it was very close.
I read the next paragraph and nearly squealed in excitement. In addition to the crook and flail, Osiris possessed a staff that wielded great power over the dead. I leaned in closer to look at the picture in the book. It showed Osiris sitting in judgment during the Weighing of the Heart ceremony. The
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staff he held in his right hand could have been the same one, but it was an old book and the etching was rough.
Sighing in frustration, I turned to a new book I'd discovered just last month: Myths of the Egyptian Underworld. I was thrilled to find this book had an entire section on Osiris. Perhaps now I could make some serious progress. I scanned the pages, looking for mention of a staff. Aha! Here it was!
The S
taff of Osiris was one of his greatest treasures. The golden orb held in the jackal's mouth was fashioned by Ra himself and holds the power of life. This staff gave Osiris power over the dead by holding out the promise of life before them. This was the staff he used to resurrect those in the afterlife.
I gulped. How could I have in my possession one of the most powerful legendary artifacts in Egyptian history? It was supposed to be just a myth. However, a myth didn't explain all the mummies hovering over the staff in the basement. Or all the mummies congregating in our hallway. Well, there was only one way to get to the bottom of this.
It was time to conduct a test.
***
I had to be scientific about it. I had to see if I could use the staff to raise the dead. Of course, the only problem was where to find something dead. My parents most likely
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wouldn't be agreeable to stopping by a graveyard on the way home. Well, neither would I, for that matter.
There were the mummies, of course, but I already knew the staff worked on them. That was how they all got to our museum in the first place.
I slowly made my way to the catacomb stairs, wracking my brain to come up with a dead thing. As I passed through the foyer, I had a burst of inspiration. The mouse! With any luck, it would still be over against the wall among the mummies. (Flimp was a good watchman, but he wasn't very good at keeping things tidy.)
I lurked in the hallway, wanting to be sure all the others were off busily returning mummies. When the foyer was empty, I hurried over to the wall, my eyes glued to the floorboards. I was pretty sure the mouse had bounced off DjaDja Betuke, a Middle Dynasty mummy. She was supremely recognizable due to her watermelon-size head and I was able to pick her out immediately, relieved that she hadn't already been returned to her exhibit. Now the only question was, had she been standing in the same place the day before when Miss Chittle had launched the mouse at her?