Awi Bubu began wandering among the items in the half-assembled exhibit. "Have I ever given you reason to mistrust me? Have I spilled any of your secrets? Exposed your activities to your parents, perhaps? No. I have done none of these things, and yet you will not call me friend." He stopped in front of a bust of Thutmose III, then whirled around to face me. "Do you call Stilton your friend? I wonder."
"I don't see how that's any of your business," I said, stung that he'd landed on my uncertainty about the Third Assistant Curator. I had been so sure he was trustworthy, and yet he had led Trawley here.
"Ah. At least Little Miss is learning," Awi Bubu said as if I had spoken my thoughts out loud.
"Stop that," I hissed at him.
"It is in your power to stop me, Little Miss. You have only to give me the tablet and I will be on my way." Something in his voice made me study him more carefully. There was a jubilant lilt to it, as if my giving him the tablet would bring him great joy.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. It belongs to my parents' museum, and they would be very upset with me if I were to hand over something of value."
Awi Bubu barked out a laugh. "Your parents"—he practically spit out the words—"your parents are lovely people and even competent at what they do, but they have no idea as to who or what you are, or what you are up to. Do not insult me by claiming otherwise."
Who or what I was? I was suddenly hungry to know just who—and what—he thought I was. Because, frankly, I hadn't a clue.
Awi Bubu heaved a great sigh, full of regret. "I would so have preferred you to hand the tablet over to me, but if you will not, I have no qualms about taking it. My claim upon it is much greater—and older—than yours." Without even hesitating, he headed over to the basket of grain. How had he known where I'd put it? There wasn't the faintest bit of green showing.
More important, how could I stop him? Surely his absolute determination to possess it proved it had some value, even if I had been unable to detect it.
Since he wasn't much bigger than I was, I gave serious thought to simply tackling him, or I would have if I hadn't known that Kimosiri was likely to be back any moment.
"You do know you can't really turn metal into gold, don't you?" As I'd hoped, my words stopped him.
"Of course," Awi said. "But that is not the nature of this tablet's value."
"It's not?"
"No, the early translations were intentionally misleading."
As Awi reached the display case that was holding the basket, a hissing, spitting shape leaped out of the darkness, straight at his face.
Awi Bubu recoiled and his hands began to sketch a strange motion until he realized it was my cat.
"Isis!" I said.
"Isis," Awi Bubu repeated, taking a step back from her. She had planted herself in front of the tablet, back arched and fur puffed out, which made her look large and terrifying. The Egyptian magician studied her a moment, then said some words in a strange language. Arabic? Ancient Egyptian? I had no idea.
Isis calmed a bit but remained firmly in position between Awi Bubu and the tablet. Much to my shock, the magician gave me a little bow. "Very well. I will not cross your friend to possess what is mine, but be warned, Little Miss, we will meet again and I will have that tablet."
And with those words, he left the foyer and hurried down the corridor Kimosiri had disappeared down earlier.
Slowly, without even thinking, I sank to the floor, my legs unable to hold me up another second. Once she was sure he was gone, Isis left the tablet's hiding place and came over to me. She nudged my hand with her nose and began purring. "Excellent work," I told her. I went to pet her, but my hand paused in the air above her head. Why had Awi Bubu been so afraid of crossing her? Why had she guarded the tablet? These questions made me hesitate. Finally, Isis grew impatient and batted at me with her paw.
Whatever else she was, she was my dearest friend in all the world and had just saved my bacon. I picked her up with both hands and cuddled her to my chest, burying my nose in her soft fur. When I felt strong enough to stand again, I kept her in my arms and carried her back to my closet, where she spent the entire night by my side in the sarcophagus.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Henry Loses His Marbles
I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING when the door to my closet burst open and banged against the wall. Isis yowled and I sat bolt upright, heart thumping painfully against my ribs. As Isis sprang out of the sarcophagus and raced for the door, I said, "Henry?"
"Why? Why'd you do it, Theo?"
I rubbed my eyes and wondered if I was having a nightmare. "What? Why'd I do what?"
"This," he said, then threw something that struck me in the chest.
"Oof! Henry! That was uncalled-for!"
He stepped into the room, his fists clenched. "What do you expect when you go around ruining people's things?"
"What are you talking about?" I looked down at the projectile in my lap. It was the book he'd been reading last night. I picked it up and opened it, then gasped. The pages inside had been torn and shredded. "Henry, I didn't do this, I swear it!"
"Well, who else would have? And don't begin jabbering on about Chaos and bad guys and that rot." Two bright spots of pink colored his cheeks.
"All right," I said slowly, trying to think. "But it wasn't me. I would never ruin a book, Henry. Never."
"I don't believe you. I think you're playing tricks on me, trying to keep at this mystery game of yours."
I scrambled out of the sarcophagus. "Henry, that's not true!"
"We'll just hear what Mother and Father have to say about all this."
I froze. They would be furious, and rightly so. The only problem was, I wasn't guilty! "Henry, you've got to believe me, I didn't do it. But we'll find out who did."
He stared at me a moment longer. "Very well. If you can prove someone else did it by dinnertime tonight, I won't tell on you." And with that, he stormed away.
I sat down on the edge of the sarcophagus and flipped through the pages of the wrecked book. Who would have done this? And why? It looked like someone had tried to tear pages out with a knife. Or claws. I paused. Isis wouldn't have, would she? No. She'd been with me all night. But then who?
Anubis? With a jolt, I realized I still had the Orb of Ra in my pocket. Had he come up from the catacombs last night looking for it? I had promised I'd return it soon, but what exactly did a jackal consider soon? That seemed a bit of a stretch, as I had no idea why he would attack Henry's book if he was mad at me, but I had to start my investigation someplace.
I jumped up and washed my face at the basin, then took off my slept-in dress and put on my spare. I slipped back into my pinafore and hurried out to deal with what was shaping up to be a busy day.
My first stop was the catacombs to see about Henry's book. Grasping my amulets, I hurried down the stairs.
Anubis looked as if he hadn't moved a whisker since I'd last seen him. I came closer and studied his teeth and claws, looking for tiny shreds of paper or other signs that he had attacked Henry's book. I checked the floor, but it too was clean of tattered paper scraps—wait. A glint of metal caught my eye.
A niggle of dread filled me when I drew closer and saw it was an amulet. Specifically, the amulet I'd given Henry the first time he'd come down here with me.
Which meant the little beast had taken it out of his pocket when I wasn't looking and kicked it behind the shrine.
As that realization sank in, everything else snapped into place: the marbles, the tart, the book. Unprotected as he was, Henry was being haunted by something; something from the catacombs, no doubt. I lifted my eyes to the wall of mummies, not surprised to find a small pile on the floor at the feet of Tetley's mummy.