I led him to my small closet, relieved when we didn't run into anybody else in the hallways. I opened the door and motioned for him to walk in first, my heart racing in anticipation. Was I finally to learn what was going on?
Awi Bubu studied the small room, his keen black eyes missing no detail, seeing everything from my frocks on their hooks to the blanket folded at the foot of the sarcophagus. He fingered the blanket and looked at the sarcophagus curiously. "Little Miss never fails to surprise me," he said. "And I have not been easily surprised in many, many years."
I shrugged, unsure what to say to that.
Without further comment, he turned to the wall behind him and wrote three hieroglyphic symbols on it with his finger, then repeated the gesture on each of the other three walls. Even though I watched closely, I could not make out which symbols he'd used. "There," he said at last. "Now Shu cannot carry our words to others."
"Why would the god of air do that?" I asked.
"Because the wedjadeen are sworn to protect the secrets of the gods; it is our sacred duty."
I flinched as he said the forbidden word, then realized he'd said our.
"If the gods hear us speaking lightly of their matters, they will report it to others, others who might not be as sympathetic as I am to Little Miss's predicament. For Little Miss has, indeed, guessed rightly. I am a wedjadeen, one of the Eyes of Horus, although an exiled one—that part of my tale is true."
We both froze at a scratch on the door. He stared at the door as if seeing through it, then nodded. "It is only your cat. Let her in."
It was indeed Isis. She stalked into the room, and I closed the door behind her.
"You may as well sit down, this is a long tale."
I settled myself on the floor with my back against the wall and held Isis in my lap. We both watched Awi Bubu, who seemed to be waging some inner war with himself.
"I have come to the decision that I must tell you all, even though it is against our rules. This half knowledge you have pieced together is too dangerous. Best that you know the full truth. Besides, I am convinced that you play some important role that I do not yet understand."
Afraid to utter a word lest he change his mind, I merely nodded.
"We are," Awi Bubu said, "a most ancient and honorable group of men. Our roots go back to the long-ago high priests of the New Kingdom during the reign of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaton, who tried to advance his one god, Aton, over the gods and goddesses who had ruled Egypt since the beginning of time. We live in small villages, poor villages, that attract no tourist or archaeological attention. Our fathers and our fathers' fathers held the same positions we do. We have one precept: guard and protect the sacred artifacts of the gods until the one true pharaoh can be restored to his throne. That is our entire reason for existing.
"When the Persians invaded Egypt, they brought their gods with them and tried to inflict them on our people. Though we wore the yoke of Persian oppression, we were successful at avoiding heresy and kept to our own gods, but it was hard. After decades of diligent manipulation, we managed to restore an Egyptian to the throne once more. All was well, for a time. But Egypt had grown weak under foreign oppression, and her gods were angry with the new gods brought to her land. The Persian king Artaxerxes attacked, and Nectanebo II fled with a small party of Egyptian priests and made his way to Macedonia. And so when it came to pass that Alexander conquered Egypt, there was much se cret rejoicing, for the blood of the pharaohs flowed in his veins."
"But wait!" I said, thoroughly confused. "Alexander's father was King Philip of Macedonia. How did Alexander come to have Egyptian blood then?"
"His father was not Philip but Nectanebo II, although only a handful knew of this, the wedjadeen among them. However, we had not counted on the influence of the Greeks holding such sway over the young Alexander. Soon, he began to combine our Egyptian gods with his Greek ones, an abomination in our eyes. The high priests reasoned and argued with him, but their protestations fell on deaf ears. They were hesitant to act, however, for he was a true son of Egypt. When Alexander died and his general Ptolemy assumed control, it became a different matter. No blood of Egypt flowed in that general's veins, and he had no right to call himself pharaoh. Even so, he continued Alexander's work, building new temples, merging his gods with our own, committing sacrilege.
"When he finally built the Serapeum in Alexandria, he sent a call out to all the temples to bring their most sacred artifacts for housing in this great monument. The high priests held a council among themselves and decided they would not do what this impostor pharaoh ordered. Instead, they brought lesser artifacts to the Serapeum. Their most sacred, true artifacts, they entrusted to a small, fiercely committed band of magician priests who called themselves the Eyes of Horus, the wedjadeen. We swore to guard these relics for when the true pharaoh rose again.
"And so we have. Deep in the desert, we guard the sacred gifts given to us by the gods, keeping them from the hands of the ignorant and the ambitious.
"Of course, Egypt is a large place and has many temples. We did not, unfortunately, get all of the artifacts. Some of these treasures slipped through our hands. A few made their way to the Serapeum and were looted when it was razed to the ground. Others never left their temples and were later discovered by adventurers and looters. But we know of all of them. And we will continue to search the world until we have every last one."
"And the Emerald Tablet is one of these artifacts of the gods?" I asked, my mind reeling with what I'd learned.
"No. The Emerald Tablet is the sole map to the hidden location where all the artifacts reside. With that map, a man would have access to all the powers of the ancient gods, artifacts capable of such massive destruction as to make your Staff of Osiris look like a child's toy. Since man was not meant to wield that much power, Chaos would reign forever."
"So that's why Sopcoate wanted it," I muttered.
"Unfortunately, these artifacts were not a secret. They were the relics our temples proudly held for our people. Even though centuries have passed, rumors of their existence still abound. There are some men who keep an ear out for that sort of rumor, eager to find that which the gods have decreed should remain hidden. And that, Miss Theodosia, is why you must relinquish the Emerald Tablet to my keeping. So that I may return it to my fellow wedjadeen and we may rest, knowing the last record of our whereabouts has been recovered."
"But I thought you said you were an exile. How could you go back?"
"The tablet would gain me entry. The honor brought to me by returning the tablet would restore my standing, and I would be wedjadeen once again." His face changed as he said this, the longing and hope transforming his aged features.
I was quiet a long moment, digesting this. It's hard to explain why, but I think I believed him. For one, his account fit with the few bits and pieces I'd been able to acquire. Even so, this was a lot to absorb. And the only corroboration I had was a few scribbled words in the margins of books. It seemed as if caution might be called for. "How can I be sure you'll return the tablet to the Eyes of Horus?" I asked. "How do I know you aren't an opportunist or an adventurer, just like the men you claim to want to avoid?"
Awi Bubu broke into a smile. "A most excellent question, Little Miss. I knew my faith in you would be well founded." Then his smile disappeared and his face grew clouded.
"I hope that by telling Little Miss all that I have told you, you will understand why it is so important that you give me the Emerald Tablet to return to safekeeping. We have guarded these secrets for millennia; I'm afraid it is only us who can keep them safely out of harm's way."