I couldn't blame her for that. "I'd be happy to help, Mum."
Behind me, Henry wandered over to wait by a large shelf against the wall.
My curiosity piqued, I cozied up to the worktable to have a look. It was a rubbing from the tomb walls of Thutmose III, and the thin parchment took up the entire table. "Here, let me get you a stool so you can see it all." Father dragged a crate closer and I climbed up. There. Now I could make out the whole thing. I frowned and began to translate.
"'Hail Thutmose, commander of all Egypt. Hail Mantu, god of war, who smiles down upon us. Hail Apep, Serpent of Chaos, whom Mantu wrestles into submission.'"
"Wait a minute..." I said. I felt Father watching me closely as I reread the script. "Since when does Mantu wrestle with the Serpent of Chaos?" I asked.
"Precisely! Your mother and I were wondering the very same thing. Keep reading."
"'We call upon Mantu, O Bringer of Chaos, to aid us in setting our enemies before you, that you might visit your chaos and destruction upon them.'"
Shocked, I turned to stare at Father. "Is he saying they fight their enemies as a way of appeasing Apep? One massive sacrifice, if you will?"
"That was what we made of it, although we thought perhaps we'd translated something wrong."
Just then, there was a loud clap of thunder that had us all jumping out of our boots. Worried about Henry, who was afraid of thunderstorms, I turned to check on him. He stood stock-still, holding a set of ivory clappers in his hand. He stared at them in awe.
"Was it supposed to rain today?" Father asked as he hurried over to the window. He looked outside. "Odd, there's not a thundercloud in sight."
I ignored the window and looked over at Henry, who was carefully setting the ivory clappers back on the shelf. He shoved his hands into his pockets as if they'd been burned, and then he headed for the far door. "I'll just wait for you out here, Theo."
"Very well, Henry. I won't be long."
"So, what do you think?" Father asked, returning from the window.
"Well, it is only a rubbing," I pointed out. "So it's a bit harder to tell. If we had the actual wall in front of us, I imagine the hieroglyphs would be much clear—"
My words were cut off by a rapid yipping coming from Statuary Hall. Fagenbush had found the mask.
"Was that a dog?" Mum speared me with a probing look.
"I don't think so," I said.
Yip-yip-yap! It was closer now, as if Fagenbush were headed toward the workroom.
"Well," I said brightly. "If that's all you needed from me, I'd best catch up to Henry."
"Yes, yes, that's all for now." Father had turned back to the rubbing and was poring over the glyphs once again. "Henrietta, do have a look at this peculiar glyph."
I was dying to have a look too but decided it was more important that I be gone when Fagenbush arrived, so I scurried toward the far door that led to the side stairway. I found Henry sitting on the top step, waiting for me. "Did it work?" he asked.
"It appears so."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With a Bark-Bark Here
THE NEXT MORNING, when we arrived at the museum, there was a note from Fagenbush explaining that he was ill and unable to come to work. Weems was furious and stomped around muttering about poor work habits. Perfect—not only was Fagenbush out of my way, he was in trouble too! Now I just had to steer clear of Stilton and ditch Henry, and I'd be home free. I resorted to the one thing guaranteed to send Henry running.
"Research?" he whined. "Why d'you have to do more beastly research? I thought you'd finished with that already."
"Hardly, Henry. Research is a never-ending task. And for something as old and revered as the tablet, I've only scratched the surface."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled something about having to look for his marbles, then hightailed it down the hall. Quickly, before anyone else could waylay me, I grabbed my coat and slipped outside to hail a hansom. Thank goodness Wigmere had seen fit to give me a small expense allowance to cover cab fare. It made getting to him that much easier.
Even though I'd visited Somerset House a few times now, it never failed to impress me with its grandeur. As I climbed out of the cab, I squared my shoulders, straightened my skirt, and lifted my chin, trying to look as if I belonged there.
I nodded at the doorman, who recognized me and waved me in. I was halfway up the first set of stairs when I heard a calamitous thumping coming my way. Seconds later, Sticky Will appeared, pelting toward me. "'Ello, miss!" he said, not slowing down one whit.
"Will?"
"Can't talk now," he said and disappeared down the steps.
Another thumping, this one much heavier, came at me. I looked up to find Boythorpe, Wigmere's annoying secretary, galloping after Will, his face red with fury. He barely spared me a glance, but I saw that he had a dark black ring of what seemed to be shoe polish around his right ear. Will must be up to his practical jokes again. I sighed and briefly considered intervening, then realized this presented a perfect opportunity to get to Wigmere without having to go through Boythorpe. I hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to Wigmere's office and knocked.
"Come in," his deep voice called out.
I opened the door and stepped inside, a heavy, hushed feeling falling over me.
He looked up from the enormous pile of papers on his desk, and an alarmed expression appeared on his face. "Has something gone wrong?"
"Oh, no, sir! I didn't mean to startle you. It's just, if you aren't too busy, I have a couple of pressing questions."
He tossed a wry look at his desk. "I'm always too busy," he said. "But of course if something urgent has come up, you have my undivided attention."
All of a sudden, I felt uncertain. Were my questions about the Emerald Tablet urgent enough to interrupt him? I had no way to tell. Only Wigmere would know that.
Or perhaps Fagenbush, a guilty little voice reminded me.
Nervous now, I perched on the edge of one of the chairs facing his desk.
"What is so urgent that it brings you out of the safety of the museum?" he asked.
"Well, sir, it's about the Emerald Tablet." Was it just my imagination or had his gaze become the slightest bit frosty? "But also about a strange man who used to work for the Antiquities Service in Egypt," I rushed to add. Then I told him all I knew about Awi Bubu, his uncanny knowledge of the Heart of Egypt, and his claim that the tablet belonged to him and should be returned immediately. "Do you really think it contains a formula to turn metal into gold?" I asked at the end.
Wigmere stroked his mustache and looked thoughtful. "I doubt it, no. But what really matters is that people believe that it does. It is that belief that makes the tablet important to them."
"The inscriptions are in Chaldean cuneiform, sir. Do you have someone here who can decipher it?"
"George Peebles could, if he were here, but I'm afraid he's on assignment now, looking into a shipment of questionable artifacts from the Temple of Osiris at Abydos. He will be tied up for some time."
"Oh." My hopes fell. "What would you like me to do with it in the meantime? It is attracting rather a lot of interest."
He waved his hand in the air. "I've got more important things to worry about than charlatans and deranged occultists. Do your parents have a safe? Could you store it there until Peebles can have a look?"
"Yes, but don't you wonder how the magician knew so much about what happened?"
"It is odd, I'll grant you."
I scooted even farther forward on my chair, encouraged by this. "Do you think it means there might be a leak of some sort?"