CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Old Friends, New Enemies

 

THE LAST TIME I’D SEEN our ex–First Assistant Curator was right after I’d beaned him on the head and he’d collapsed in an annex of Thutmose III’s tomb. To say I wasn’t expecting to see him in London was an extreme understatement.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Bollingsworth asked. “Hard to imagine you at a loss for words.” He tilted his face into the carriage light. “What do you think of your handiwork, Theo? Would you call it an improvement?”

Refusing to cower, I lifted my chin. “Is that why you’ve paid me a visit?” My voice sounded far too high and wobbly. “To show me your scars?”

He reached up and ran his fingers over his ruined face. “No, Theo. I’m here because once again you’ve been far too clever for your own good.”

“What do you mean?”

His hulking form swallowed up all the space in the carriage. “Where is the Orb of Ra?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s an Orb of Ra?”

“You little fool! You are in no position to play games with me.” Long gone was the friendly First Assistant Curator who used to be kind to me. “We knew you had it, along with the staff—otherwise all the mummies in London wouldn’t have shown up on your doorstep.”

“Wh-what makes you say that?”

“We have known of the staff for some time now. It is one of the many artifacts of power we’ve been searching for. All we were lacking was its exact location, which you so helpfully discovered for us. Now, give me that orb.”

“It was you who stole it!” Of course! It all made sense now. Who better to know his way around our museum than the ex–First Assistant Curator?

“We want the Orb of Ra, Theo. The staff is useless without it.”

“Was it you who mummified Tetley?”

A shadow of something—regret?—crossed his face. “No, it wasn’t me. And you’re stalling. I am more than happy to force you to reveal the orb’s whereabouts.” He caressed his scarred cheek again. “They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. Would you agree?”

I gulped, trying to think of a way to gain more time. “It’s back at the museum. If you take me there, I’ll show you where it is.”

“You’re lying,” he said.

How on earth had he known I was lying? I’m actually a rather good liar, when I need to be.

Bollingsworth leaned forward, his nose inches from mine. “Now, where is that orb?”

His voice rose on the word orb, and it was clear he was running out of patience. Just then, the carriage took a turn much too fast and pitched us both up against the wall. There was a thunk as my pocket made contact with the door.

Bollingsworth gave a chilling smile. Faster than a snake, his arm darted forward and grabbed a handful of my frock. He pulled me away from the door toward him. I struggled, but there was nowhere to go and he was much stronger than I.

He thrust his hand into my pocket and pulled out the orb, letting go of me as soon as he had it. I tumbled back against the seat feeling sick and filthy, as if his touch had corrupted me in some way.

He held the orb up in the carriage light. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re so good at finding things we need, Theo.” He glanced at me, our eyes meeting. “It’s a pity that won’t save you.” He shoved the orb into one of his pockets but made no move to leave the carriage.

“Y-you have the orb. Why don’t you go now?” I said, rather desperate for him to be on his way.

“Ah, but you and I have some unfinished business, do we not?” His eyes glittered at the promise of vengeance.

“No, no. I think we’re quite finished,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t quiver too much.

“I owe you, Theo,” he whispered. “Even the Bible says so. An eye for an eye, is it not?” His hand crept inside his cloak.

Deciding I’d rather take my chances on a tumble from the carriage than with Bollingsworth, I felt along the carriage wall behind me, groping for the handle. Call it a hunch, but my chances of survival seemed much better outside the carriage than inside.

The carriage swerved again, and I tumbled away from the door.

The sound of another carriage reached us, and Bollingsworth peeked out the back window. Please let it be the Chosen Keepers, I thought. Please, oh please. Stokes. Bramfield. Thornleigh. Any one of them would be sorely welcome now.

Our carriage was racing along recklessly and it was all Bollingsworth and I could do to hang on. Then there were three loud thuds, and once again the vehicle dipped and swayed dangerously as new bodies climbed aboard. Bollingsworth drew a long, sharp knife from the folds of his cape. He wouldn’t have done that if he were expecting his fellow Serpents of Chaos. That could only be a good sign. Or so I hoped.

The door of the carriage jerked open. A man in a hood and cape stood balanced on the running board, blocking my view of the streets outside rushing by. He took one glance at Bollingsworth and the knife, then reached in, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me from the careening carriage.

The last thing I saw was the opposite door bursting open and another cloaked figure hurling himself into the carriage, ramming into Bollingsworth and knocking him back against the seat.

Then I was dangling from the stranger’s arm, my heart pounding wildly as the cobbled streets churned below in a dizzying rush. While I was most glad to get away from Bollingsworth, I had no desire to be crushed beneath racing hooves or carriage wheels. But the fellow had the grace and balance of a cat. He kept a firm grip on me while the second carriage drew closer, another man braced against the doorway.

Before I could so much as say, “I think not!” I was lugged like a bag of potatoes from one man to the next. The second man caught me with a slight oomph, and then we both tumbled back into the carriage.

I lay on the floor for a moment, trying to catch my breath and hoping I wouldn’t be sick. Our carriage turned down a side street, leaving Bollingsworth and the other man racing off into the night.

I was torn between thanking the stranger who’d caught me and asking him what in the world he’d been thinking. Although I most fervently appreciated being rescued, I wasn’t overly fond of the method. Surely the Chosen Keepers could have rescued me in a little less terrifying manner? I would have to speak with Wigmere about this.

The man who’d caught me reached up and removed his hood. “Hello, Theo. Sorry it took us so long to get to you.”

I gasped. It wasn’t one of the Chosen Keepers I’d been expecting.

It was Edgar Stilton!