"But it doesn't make any sense! Why would they bring all of London's mummies to our museum?" A thought occurred to me—a horrid, vile thought. "You don't think all the mummies are cursed, like the Heart of Egypt was, and now those curses will fall on our heads?"
Wigmere scowled. "Did they feel cursed?"
"At least one is. Or if it's not cursed, it's akhu is hovering nearby and most unhappy at being disturbed."
"I suppose that's unavoidable with so many mummies being moved. Can you handle it?" he asked.
I sat up straighter. "Yes. Of course."
"Very well. We will be working on this from our end, my dear. As soon as we have any word of what's going on, either Will or myself will get a message to you."
"Is there anything you can do to help Father with this horrid misunderstanding about the mummies? They seem to think he's trying to steal them."
Wigmere shook his head. "I'm sorry. All the Brotherhood's movements must remain shrouded in secrecy. We can't risk making our presence known."
My heart sank. How was Father going to get out of this mess?
"I'm sure as more becomes known over the next day or two, your father's name will be cleared. Meanwhile, I suggest you read all the texts you can get your hands on regarding mummies and Osiris."
Of course! As god of the Underworld, Osiris ruled over the dead. And mummies were most definitely dead.
"Anubis, too, since he was god of mummification," Wigmere continued. "We'll comb our archives for anything that might explain what could cause all these mummies to be on the move. Hopefully one of us will find a clue as to what Chaos is up to."
"Very well, sir."
Wigmere gave a bracing nod. "Keep your spirits up. We've defeated the Serpents of Chaos before—we can do it again."
"Thank you, sir." However, last time we hadn't been dealing with the forces of the Underworld, which put a rather new spin on it.
Wigmere rapped on the carriage door and Will opened it so quickly that I couldn't help but wonder if he'd been eavesdropping. "She's ready to go back," Wigmere said. "Is the coast clear?"
Will shifted his eyes to the left, then the right. "I reckon so."
Wigmere winked at me, but it was lacking it's normal enthusiasm. "We'll use Will here to keep in touch."
I nodded, then hopped out of the carriage and followed Will as he scurried across the street, his eyes darting everywhere. When we reached the museum, he stepped partway into a hedge before opening the door and fairly shoving me inside. Surely he was overdoing this whole lookout bit? Before I could bring it to his attention, he disappeared down the street and I was alone in the museum's hallway.
Everyone was most likely still in the foyer, talking to the police. Hopefully, no one would have noticed my absence. I locked the door, then stepped farther into the hallway—
Directly into Clive Fagenbush! And I do mean directly. I bounced off him like an Indian rubber ball, nearly losing my balance and landing on my bum in the process.
"Watch where you're going," he snarled, then brushed off his suit, as if I had dirtied it somehow.
"How was I to know you'd be skulking around down here?" I said, mirroring his gesture by brushing off my pinafore.
"I wasn't skulking. I've come to show Constable Biggs here the east entrance, as he asked me to." That was when I noticed that he did indeed have the constable with him. "What are you doing here?" Fagenbush asked suspiciously.
"I ... came to see if the door had been tampered with." I turned to the constable. "But it hasn't been. It was locked up tight when I found it."
Before either of them could question me further, I hurried down the hall.
Once I reached the foyer, the familiar sensation of beetles marching down my spine overtook me for a moment. How could I have forgotten? I had work to do.
But as I looked around, I saw that I was nearly too late. Strangers—a small army of them—were swarming everywhere. Unfamiliar porters and workmen toiled side by side with Dolge and Sweeny, lugging the mummies down to Receiving, where I assumed carts were ready to return them to their owners. Weems was trying to direct traffic but just kept getting in the way.
There were a couple of other men, too, although they were younger and dressed in suits. One was talking to Stilton and writing things down on a pad, while another was trying to set up some photography equipment. More policemen, perhaps? I inched closer to overhear their conversation.
"Oh, yes," Stilton was saying. "Tales of mummy curses have been around for ages."
The stranger scribbled something furiously on his notepad. "Yes, go on. What are some of the most common effects of these?"
"Well, there are stories of people dying or having serious accidents, or horrible misfortunes befalling them after they'd disturbed a mummy."
The man stopped writing and looked up at Stilton. "What exactly do you mean by 'disturb'?"
Stilton's left shoulder jerked. "Move it from it's rightful resting place. Or any resting place, I suppose. Or open the seal on it's tomb..."
The fellow began scribbling again. "What can people do to protect themselves?"
"Well, not handle mummies, for one ... and gold is supposed to be a powerful form of protection...."
I was surprised at how well versed Stilton was in such mythology. I had thought him mostly a clerk.
"Gold?" the man echoed.
"Yes, gold represents the fierce power of the sun god Ra, which is said to drive the mummy away."
"Where on earth have you been?" Vicary Weems snarled.
I jerked as if I'd been burned, then realized he wasn't speaking to me. He was talking to Fagenbush. My enjoyment in watching Fagenbush squirm under Weems's questioning was distracted by a grunt off to my left. Dolge had just wrapped his burly arms around one of the mummies. Oh dear! He and Sweeny might come into contact with that vile curse.
I shoved a hand into the pocket of my pinafore and sauntered over to the mummies, as if wanting another look. When I got close enough to Dolge, I tripped and grabbed on to him for support—but of course it was actually so I could slip one of my extra wedjat eyes into his pocket.
"Watch it there, miss," he said. "I'd hate for you to bump up against one o' these mummies and get a curse." He winked, clearly thinking it a fine joke.
If only he knew...
I moved away to find Sweeny. He wasn't quite as good-natured as Dolge, so I'd have to be a little more clever with him.
While I was still puzzling over how to approach Sweeny, the man with the photographic equipment called out, "Over here, gents!" There was a loud pop! and a blinding flash, then Sweeny yelled out, "Ruddy 'ell! I can't see!"
At the same moment, Inspector Turnbull saw the photographer and began bellowing at the top of his lungs. "What's that reporter doing in here? Get him out! Out!"
I rushed to Sweeny's side while he was still batting the dancing dots away from his vision and patted his arm. "Don't worry. Your sight will come back in just a second." I slipped a wedjat eye into the pocket of his coveralls. "If you close your eyes, it makes the dots go away faster."
By this time two constables had reached the reporter and photographer and were none too gently escorting them out the front door. Weems rushed over to Stilton, clearly appalled. "Were you speaking with that ... that reporter? I've a mind to give you a formal reprimand."
Oh, honestly. What did he call this—an informal reprimand?
"I-I thought he was with the police. I had no idea he was—"
"Just get the mummies back where they belong," Weems scoffed. "I'll deal with you later."
As Stilton ran after Sweeny and another porter, a loud bellow erupted from the back of the museum, followed by a rapid thumping.