I strained to hear better. It had come from the northwest corner of the room. I peered up into the shadows. Something dark lurked up there. It rustled again, and in one sweeping movement I knocked the rest of the supplies off the worktable and into my bag.
As I headed toward the door, the rustling grew louder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shadow detach itself from the ceiling and begin oozing in my direction.
I picked up my pace and fled. Clearly, I had more work to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Arcane Order of the Black Sun Calls a Meeting
MY PARENTS NEVER DID REALIZE I'd been gone, and Monday morning arrived without incident. Well, except for being rushed through my breakfast, as Father wanted to get to the museum bright and early. We were in the process of preparing our newest exhibit—Thutmose III: The Napoleon of Ancient Egypt—and my parents were eager to get started. They were certain this would be an important exhibit for the Museum of Legends and Antiquities; it might even put us on the same footing as the British Museum.
Father called a staff meeting first thing.
"Very well," he said, clapping his hands together awkwardly to get everyone's attention. Father was brilliant but not at his best when directing people. "Two weeks," he said. "That's how much time we have to finish putting this exhibit together, the finest exhibit of the decade, I might add. The board has allowed us to close for two weeks so we may devote our full attention to this matter, so let's make the most of it, shall we? Weems?"
The priggish first Assistant Curator pranced forward, his feeble little mustache twitching as he said, "Yes, sir?"
Vicary Weems is the sort of grownup who believes children should not be seen and not heard. At all. He also dresses rather above his station, always wearing loud patterned vests that make my eyes ache and—of all the ridiculous things—spats. I don't care if King Edward himself wears them, they are still ridiculous looking, like bibs for one's feet.
"You have the floor plans I gave you for the new display cases, correct?"
Weems patted the pocket of his scarlet and gold vest. "Right here, sir."
"Good. You'll direct Dolge and Sweeny with the placement of the cases." He paused a moment, then turned to Dolge. "They have been delivered, haven't they?"
"Aye, sir."
"Fagenbush?" Father continued.
The loathsome Second Assistant Curator stepped for ward, bringing a small cloud of boiled-cabbage-and-pickled-onion fumes with him. His thick black eyebrows were drawn together in a V. Whatever did Lord Wigmere see in him?
"We'll need you up in the workroom so you can start packing the artifacts for transport down here."
Fagenbush nodded.
"Stilton?"
My favorite curator, Edgar Stilton, sprang to attention, a faint tic beginning in his left cheek. "Right here, sir."
Father consulted his list. "Let's see, you're to..."
"I'm to visit the draper this morning and approve the material for the display backing," Stilton said, then blinked rapidly, as if surprised by his own boldness.
"Oh, that's right. Very well, then. I guess that's it. Any questions? Let's get to it." The others began to trickle away, and he turned to me. "Theodosia?"
"Yes, Father?"
"How's that inventory coming along down in long-term storage?"
"Nearly done," I said cheerfully, waving my ledger book.
"Excellent." He turned to go, but I stopped him.
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to assist you and Mother with the upcoming exhibit?"
"Not right at the moment, no. perhaps later..."
I sighed. "Very well." It was beastly unfair, if you asked me, especially since it had been my discovery of the annex to Thutmose III's tomb that had given them this idea for the exhibit in the first place. It seemed as if I should at least be able to help. However, I am sad to say, that I have found there to be little justice in the world.
Feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I cast one last longing glance at all the commotion going on in the foyer then, re-signed to my fate, headed for the catacombs.
Of course, they weren't really catacombs, merely long-term storage space for the museum, but it felt as creepy as catacombs. I clutched the three amulets around my neck and reached for the door.
A shadow loomed in front of me and I jumped. "Stilton!" I said, rather louder than I'd intended. "What are you doing here? You gave me quite a start."
The entire left side of the Third Assistant Curator's body twitched as he held his finger to his lips. "Shh." His eyes were bright, his cheeks slightly flushed.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"The grand master wants to see you."
My sense of victory at having evaded him yesterday evaporated. "Now?"
"Yes, miss. He's called a meeting of the Black Sun. Everyone will be there."
That was Stilton's one glaring fault. He belonged to the Arcane Order of the Black Sun. "Well, I'm very busy. I'm afraid it's not a good time."
Stilton blinked twice and looked apologetic. "Everyone's preoccupied with the exhibit just now, Miss Theo. And you're supposed to be down in the long-term storage. No one will miss you for hours."
Well, he had that part right. I'd be lucky if they remembered me when it was time to go home. "But what about you? Aren't you supposed to be visiting the draper's?"
Stilton looked a bit smug. "I took care of that on my way home last night."
"Oh. But I already gave Trawley his magical favor. What does he want with me now?"
A hatchet-faced man stepped out of the hallway behind Stilton. "I thought you said she was coming?"
Stilton flinched at the sound of Basil Whiting's voice. Sent reinforcements, had they? This didn't look good.
"S-she is. In just a moment," Stilton said. "Aren't you, Miss Theo?" His weak tea-colored eyes pleaded with me.
Since Trawley had sent his second in command as backup, it was clear I had no choice. "Of course, Stilton. I'd love to." If he caught my sarcasm, he made no sign.
"Very well, miss. This way." He motioned toward the east entrance. With a sigh, I headed down the corridor. "I thought you scorpions were supposed to serve me," I muttered, feeling quite put out.
"We're to see to your safety, miss," Whiting said, falling into step behind me.
"Yes, but that's not quite the same thing, is it?"
He looked over my head at Stilton as if to say You deal with her. Stilton shrugged. Or twitched. I couldn't be sure which.
Once we were outside, he opened the carriage door for me, then followed me inside it. Much to my relief, Whiting joined Ned Gerton up on the driver's box. Stilton cleared his throat and held up a black silk blindfold.
I stared at it with distaste. "Is that really necessary?"
"The supreme master says so, miss. I'm just following orders."
"Like nice little sheep," I murmured.
"What was that?" he asked, a startled look on his face.
"I think I'll have a nice little sleep. On the ride over," I added. "Do wake me when we're there." I wedged myself in the farthest corner, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes. There. Stilton would have to manhandle me to get that wretched blindfold on. Let's see if he would go that far.
I waited, nerves on edge, but after a long tense moment, I heard him sigh and settle back into his seat. Excellent.
Fifteen minutes later, I felt the carriage draw to a stop. "please, miss," Stilton whispered. "You must let me put the blindfold on now or we'll both be in trouble."