"Yes, well, it turned out that Nigel Bollingsworth had been working with him."
Henry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "our old Assistant Curator? The one you always made cow eyes at?"
"I never did," I said.
"He was a traitor?"
"Exactly. And Wigmere wanted me to keep an eye out for any other traitors."
Henry leaned forward. "It's that Fagenbush fellow, isn't it? He's always seemed fishy to me."
I sighed. "I'm afraid not. Wigmere claims to have checked him out rather thoroughly."
"Maybe he's wrong."
"Yes, my thoughts exactly."
"What about Stilton?"
"Stilton doesn't work for the Serpents of Chaos, but he does belong to a secret organization—"
"Like a club?"
"Yes, like a club. It's called the Arcane Order of the Black Sun, and they are wildly attracted to all sorts of magic. Especially Egyptian magic. So while Stilton means well, I don't necessarily trust the others in his organization."
Henry whistled.
"But wait," I said. "It gets better. Remember when you and I went into the Seven Dials last time you were home? And we followed that gentleman from the British Museum?"
Henry nodded. "Tetley, you said his name was."
"Shhh!" I glanced over my shoulder, afraid that the mummy formerly known as Tetley would somehow respond to hearing his name.
"What?" Henry whispered.
"That's him." I pointed to the mummy up against the wall.
"Quit pulling my leg..."
"No, Henry, really! Von Braggenschnott got mad at him for failing when we were in Egypt and he had him mummified as a punishment. These are extremely dangerous people, which is why I'm telling you all this. So you will be on your guard and watchful at all times."
"You mean I get to work for Wigmere too?"
"Well, not Wigmere exactly. But me. You can help me in my duties for Wigmere, and that will be just like working for him," I rushed to explain.
He wasn't fooled. "No, it won't. It will be like working for you." He sighed, clearly put out. Then he frowned. "How does that old Egyptian fellow fit into this? Does he work for Wigmere too? Or the Caning Order for Blackson—what did you call it?"
"The Arcane Order of the Black Sun. And I don't know yet how he fits in, but that's what I intend to find out."
"Find out what?"
I jerked my head up at the sound of Clive Fagenbush's voice. He stood on the bottom step. How on earth had he gotten all the way down those creaky stairs without my hearing him? "What are you doing here?" I asked, none too politely.
He came fully into the basement; his gaze slowly took in the mad jumble of long-forgotten artifacts before finally settling on the row of mummies on the far wall. He crossed over to them and began studying them with interest. "I see you're keeping Tetley down here."
"Not by choice. Chudleigh wants nothing to do with him now that he knows that it's a fake. He clearly doesn't belong in the museum, but there's not much else to be done. Unless you have a suggestion," I said sweetly. Actually, what I longed to do was give the poor man a proper burial; I just hadn't figured out how to go about it yet.
Fagenbush sauntered over to the Canopic shrine on which the statue of Anubis rested. "Ah, yes. Your jackal."
Oh, do be quiet, I thought. You're going to spill all my secrets. I glanced at Henry, who was watching Fagenbush with narrowed eyes. "Amazingly lifelike, isn't it?" I said.
Fagenbush looked over his shoulder at me, then down at Henry. "Amazing," he drawled.
"What are you doing down here?" I demanded again, my nerves stretched thin by his examination.
"Now, Theo, you can't blame me if I wanted to check out where you've been keeping yourself for the last few weeks. You can't hog all the choicest artifacts, you know. I'll have to be sure and come down here more often. In fact, you might say I'll be dogging you." He glanced at the Anubis statue, then laughed at his own joke. But I knew a threat when I heard it. He was going to follow me around if need be—whatever was required for him to make those wretched reports to Wigmere.
He continued his perusal of the room, sauntering ever nearer to the shelves. As Fagenbush worked his way closer and closer to the tablet, I realized I had to divert him—but how? I glanced around, and my eyes fell on a Canopic jar that held a length of rope ensorcelled with a particularly nasty curse. Hmm. I could use that, except it was a rather vile piece of magic, and while I wanted Fagenbush out of the way, I didn't wish him any permanent damage. Well, not often, anyway.
When Fagenbush reached out and picked up a funerary mask from the shelf just above the hidden tablet, my gaze settled on a stool from the New Kingdom that was nestled up against the base of the shelves. Carefully, as if I didn't want him to see me, I lifted my foot and gently pushed the stool behind the Canopic shrine.
Fagenbush's head snapped up, his nose quivering like that of a hound on point. "What was that?"
"What was what?" I asked innocently.
He dropped the now forgotten mask back on the shelf and strode toward me. "What are you trying to hide from me?"
"I'm not trying to hide anything from you."
"You little liar." He pushed past me and reached behind the Canopic shrine, then smiled in triumph as he pulled out the stool. "See! I knew you were trying to conceal something." He examined it. The leather seat had rotted away centuries ago, but the legs were inlaid with small pieces of ivory and ebony, so it didn't take long for Fagenbush to figure out it had belonged to an important individual. His gaze turned speculative. "Now, why didn't you want me to see this? I wonder."
Actually, I had wanted him to see it. That was the whole point and the basis of the new strategy I had just devised on the fly: redirect Fagenbush's nosiness to harmless artifacts. Well, relatively harmless. The stool had a mild curse on it, one that roughly translated to "May the sands of the desert settle in your knickers until the next new moon."
I scowled, as if I were upset he'd found the stool. "I'm sorry, did you say what you were doing down here?"
He gripped the stool and closed the gap between us. "I have actually been sent down here by your father and Weems to see if you've finished their precious inventory yet. If not, I am to assist you until it is done. I have, in essence, been sent to clean up after you."
"Hardly," I said, thrusting the ledger at him. "The inventory was completed last night. Here. It's all yours." Of course, it wasn't complete. There were a number of questionable artifacts I hadn't included, such as the tablet and the Orb of Ra, but I wasn't about to confide that to Fagenbush.
He snatched the ledger from me, then thumbed through the pages, reading what I'd written. "Well, it looks complete, anyway."
"It is complete. I am very thorough." And you would do well to remember that, I thought. "Now, since you have what you need, perhaps you should get back to work."
He leaned forward and I was enveloped in a small cloud of pickled-onion-and-boiled-cabbage fumes. "Watch yourself, Theo" was all he said. Then he snapped the ledger closed and began climbing the stairs. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Henry.
"What a beast!" Henry said. I winced, sure that Fagenbush hadn't made it to the top of the stairs yet.
My suspicions were confirmed when the entire basement suddenly went black. I froze as Fagenbush's soft laughter floated down the stairway, followed by the click of the door closing. I waited to see if he would lock it, but no. He seemed satisfied to simply turn off the gaslights and leave us to fumble about in the dark.
"I say, why is Fagenbush so mean?" Henry asked.
I sighed. "I don't know, Henry. Perhaps he doesn't think he should have to work with a young girl? Whatever the reason, it is most tiresome. I honestly don't trust him a bit."