"No, I don't. Didn't you say two other people besides yourself knew of the tablet? Your brother and Limburger, was it?"
"You mean Stilton, sir."
"Right, Stilton. It's much more likely that one of them told someone about the Emerald Tablet."
"But that wouldn't explain how Awi Bubu knew that the Heart of Egypt had been returned to the Valley of the Kings. Only the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers and I knew that."
"And the Serpents of Chaos," he reminded me.
"Oh," I said, sitting back in my chair. "Do you think this Awi Bubu is a member of the Chaos organization?"
"No. I don't. They don't tend to show their hand the way he did. I believe he's just an opportunistic charlatan drawn to the lure of overtly magical relics—not unlike Trawley and his Order of the Black Sun."
"Sir," I began slowly. "Speaking of Chaos, there's something I need to ask of you."
He raised one of his bushy white eyebrows at me. "Yes?"
"It's regarding Admiral Sopcoate. I'd like permission to tell my grandmother about his traitorous activities—"
"No!"
I leaned forward in my chair. "But she's about to make a horrendous mistake! She's talked the admiralty into letting her hold a memorial service for Sopcoate. She would be horrified if she ever realized she'd planned such a thing for someone who committed treason against his country."
Wigmere gave an emphatic shake of his head. "If the admiralty gave her permission, they must have decided it was a worthwhile cover. I'm afraid you must honor your original promise to me and not breathe a word to anyone. Not even her."
My shoulders slumped in defeat. If Grandmother found out that I had withheld this information from her...
"Now," Wigmere said briskly, "have you had any luck in locating any other artifacts that Munk may have acquired when he purchased the staff?"
"No, sir, I haven't. I've been totally waylaid by the discovery of the Emerald Tablet."
Wigmere frowned. "I think Munk's cache is a much higher priority than a piece of occult memorabilia. It's an alchemical wild-goose chase, something far too many men have spent centuries looking for. It's a quest pursued by charlatans and fools."
"But Stilton seemed to think—"
Wigmere waved aside my argument with one gnarled hand. "Many scholars do not even believe there was such a thing, or at least, not anything handed down from Thoth. Emeralds weren't even mined in Egypt until the Alexandrian period, well past any time that Thoth himself would have actually lived, if indeed he did live. And what few emeralds were found in Egypt were small ones. Nothing indicates that emeralds large enough to carve a tablet upon exist anywhere in the area. No, I'd really prefer you spend your energies looking for the rest of Munk's artifacts. I don't want to risk another object of such great power slipping through undetected."
"But that's the thing, sir. It's all a horrid jumble down there. There aren't exactly tags on items announcing which lots they were bought in. And the staff wasn't cursed, exactly. It was just powerful when activated. But for the purposes of long storage or hiding, it had been deactivated. I have to assume any other artifacts of that nature will be dormant or deactivated as well."
"Which would make them devilishly hard to recognize."
"Precisely!"
"I wonder if there isn't some common thread or element that could be used to identify the Munk artifacts. Say, the artwork or the time period. If the Egyptians truly believed these belonged to the gods, then it seems likely they would need to be from the Old Kingdom. Something made in the Middle or New Kingdom couldn't possibly be old enough to have belonged to any god who might have walked the earth."
"Excellent point, sir." And one I had already thought of. "However, not all artifacts are clearly from one period. Yes, it is evident in certain artwork and pictorial depictions, but since so much of that has worn away or faded, it's not always helpful."
"Hmm. I wonder if we shouldn't have someone else down there. Someone with just a touch more experience."
I did not like the sound of this at all. Not one bit. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea, sir. How would we explain someone new to my parents?"
"I was thinking of Fagenbush."
I bolted forward, and only the firmest resolve kept me from shouting no!
"He's already in place and on-site," Wigmere continued. "It seems as if it would be an easy thing to get him assigned to those artifacts."
"Easy for whom, sir? As far as my father knows, I've finished that up. Weems, the First Assistant Curator, is very busy directing Fagenbush's duties with the new exhibit and would be quite put out to have him just up and switch. Honestly, it simply wouldn't work."
Wigmere studied me with his piercing blue gaze. "And this has nothing to do with the personal animosity you've shown him? Even after he saved your life?"
I fought the urge to squirm in my chair. "No, sir. While it's true we're not the best of chums, that has nothing to do with why I think this wouldn't work." Well, not much, anyway.
"Theodosia. You have taken quite a lot of responsibility on yourself, even though you are nothing but a child. I have added further to that by bringing you into my confidence and allowing you to help us when it was expedient."
Odd. I thought I'd been allowing him to help me.
"One of the things I don't expect you to understand yet is that one must learn to be a team player. I realize that, as a girl, one without access to other girls of your age or to sports, you haven't been exposed to teams much. But they are an important tool. One of the signs of maturity and responsibility is being able to work well with others. Even those we don't like."
A hot wave of mortification washed over me. "It's one thing not to like someone, sir, but quite another not to trust them," I blurted out. Wigmere simply looked disappointed in me.
"I've told you, Theodosia. He's been checked out thor oughly. I have no doubts as to his trustworthiness, but perhaps you are too young to understand."
A heavy silence began to grow as I struggled to think of a way to defend myself. I was relieved when the door burst open, grateful for any interruption.
Except this one. Clive Fagenbush stood in the doorway, looking furious.
Wigmere was outraged. "Fagenbush! What is the meaning of this?"
Fagenbush shut the door behind him and strode toward me in a menacing fashion. He stopped when he reached my chair, towering over me. He lifted a finger and pointed, nearly poking me in the nose.
"This—yip-yip—girl has put a curse on me. Twice."
I shot to my feet, swerving abruptly to avoid colliding with his finger. "I have not!"
Fagenbush opened his mouth to argue but let loose with a long yipping bark instead. He sounded extraordinarily like a jackal.
"What is going on here?" Wigmere asked as he stared in puzzlement at Fagenbush.
The Second Assistant Curator took a deep breath and tried again. "Your youngest—yip-yap—member of the Brotherhood—arf!—has seen fit to put a curse—yip-yip-yip—on me."
I whirled around to face Wigmere. "I have not! I haven't the faintest idea how to curse someone. All my research revolves around curse removal. Besides, it's not my fault the museum is loaded with cursed artifacts."
"She's got a point, Clive. Why do you think she's involved?"
I waited. Would he admit he'd been following me around, using me to determine which artifacts should be examined rather than doing his own research?
"Because, sir, I found her lurking near the artifacts in question."
"Maybe I just happened to identify them before you did. And maybe I was able to examine them without getting cursed. I can't help it if you're incompetent at detecting curses. All that proves is that I shouldn't have to report to you."