She dabbed at Awi Bubu's face with her fine Belgian lace handkerchief. "When I was a girl I longed to follow in Florence Nightingale's footsteps. More than anything, I wanted to attend her school and march off to the Crimea to help tend to our country's brave and injured.
"Unfortunately, my father would have none of it. Nursing was for the poorer classes, and he was appalled to think of a child of his dirtying her hands, and reputation, with nursing work."
Grandmother? A nurse? I simply stared at her as my mind struggled to absorb it all.
Awi Bubu began to cough horribly, as if he were trying to dislodge a lung. His face was drawn with pain when he was done.
"We need some bandages to stabilize his ribs," Grandmother said. "I'll be right back." She slowly rose to a standing position and then disappeared behind the nearest sphinx.
As soon as she was out of sight, Awi's hand reached out and clutched at my sleeve.
"I'm right here," I assured him. "I haven't gone anywhere."
He opened his mouth and tried to speak, so I leaned closer.
"Our plan. It did not go so well. Did it?"
Afraid discouragement would worsen his condition, I said, "It went well enough. We have the tablet, I think. Will is quick and resourceful and knows this neighborhood. We'll get you patched up, then you can return it to the wedja—er, return it, just as we planned, and resume your place among them."
"No, Little Miss. Now it is I who must play the skeptic. That will not happen." He was interrupted by another coughing fit, and this time, blood came up. I looked around frantically for Grandmother, but she was still ripping bandages from her petticoats. Awi tugged at me again, this time more urgently. "You must honor your promise," he said, then went limp.
Pure panic jolted through me. "Oh, do hang on, Awi. Hang on!" I ordered. Then I remembered my amulets. I lifted the two from my neck and placed them on his chest.
After a long moment, his eyes fluttered open. "The information in the tablet cannot fall into the wrong hands." He grabbed my arm and tried to lift himself up. "Promise! Promise me you will do this thing."
Terrified he'd cause himself grave injury, I said, "I promise. Now lie back down before you kill yourself."
He eased down and his grip loosened. "Leave an offering on the altar in the Temple of Horus at Luxor. The Eyes will know of it and come for you." Then he coughed once more and fell horribly, wretchedly silent.
"Grandmother!" I cried.
Grandmother hurried over, her hands full of bandages. "What's happened?"
"He's collapsed," I said.
"It may be just as well." She leaned over and felt for his pulse. "He is still alive, although his pulse is erratic. Here, rip off his shirt so we can bandage those ribs and keep them from poking about into something vital."
Some small part of my mind registered the irony of Grandmother Throckmorton telling me to rip off a man's shirt. I reached down and yanked gently; the thin torn cotton came away easily. Then I gasped.
There on the base of Awi Bubu's throat was a tattooed Eye of Horus. The very same design that Stokes had worn, that all of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers wore.
Beside me, Grandmother sniffed. "That's a rather heathen-looking mark," she observed as she bent down and began bandaging his ribs.
There was the sound of a footstep on the pavement behind us, and I was terrified that the Serpents who'd been chasing Will had returned.
But it was Clive Fagenbush who stood on the Embankment behind me. His black eyes were glittering and unreadable in the dark. He stared at me a long moment, then glanced down at Awi Bubu. His next words would have shocked me to the core if there had been any part of me left to shock.
"I've brought help," he said.
And indeed he had. No sooner had he uttered those words than a group of men emerged from the fog and headed in our direction. One of the men—a doctor—broke away from the group and hurried forward, a large satchel in his hand. "Let me through," he said. He knelt at the wounded man's side, and Grandmother began briskly rattling off Awi's condition. The doctor looked at her once in surprise, then rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Bodies continued to swarm out of the fog. Scores of them carried stretchers, and they quickly moved along the Embankment, collecting the fallen, including, I was glad to see, Sopcoate. He would not get away this time. I recognized another of the fallen and rushed to his side before they could cart him away.
Stilton sat leaning back against Cleopatra's Needle, his face drawn and pale. He clutched his left arm, which seemed to pain him greatly. "It came true, you know."
"What came true?" I asked, sitting down next to him.
"Your prophecy for Trawley. 'The Black Sun shall rise up in a red sky before falling to earth, where a great serpent will swallow it.'"
"How so?"
"Well, half the Black Sun was lured into joining the Serpents of Chaos, effectively swallowing up Trawley's organization. And look." He pointed to the horizon, where the setting sun had turned the dark gray clouds a fiery red.
We were both quiet for a long moment, then he spoke again. "I-I'm sorry, miss. I've been a fool."
"Shh," I told him. "They'll have you patched up in no time."
Stilton shook his head. "No, miss. I've put you in danger. That's inexcusable. I just never realized how unhinged Trawley was. I know you can never forgive me. I'll hand in my resignation to your father tomorrow, first thing."
"Don't be daft," I told him.
Poor Stilton blinked. "B-beg p-pardon?"
"Stilton, you joined the Black Sun in good faith. You had no idea who or what Trawley was, or what he was capable of doing, or that he would kidnap people off the streets, did you?"
"No, miss. None at all."
"And as soon as you discovered that, you left him. Then to top it off, you put yourself in grave personal danger to make amends. I don't know about you, but in my book, that's good work."
Stilton's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Which was just as well, since two men arrived to put him on a stretcher. "Take good care of him, he's on our side," I told them.
"Very well, miss." They laid the stretcher on the ground and very gently helped him onto it. When he was secure, each man grabbed an end and lifted.
"Theodosia." Wigmere's deep, familiar voice reverberated like a bell.
Slowly I turned to face him. "Sir," I said cautiously.
Using his cane, he limped toward me as fast as he could, then put his hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
For some reason, his question made my eyes sting a bit. "I'm fine, sir. But Awi Bubu is in rather bad shape." Afraid I would begin bawling like a baby, I hurried over to the doctor and asked, "Will he be all right, do you think?"
"He has a good chance," the doctor said. "This woman here may have helped save his life." Surprised at this praise, Grandmother got flustered and stood up to smooth out her skirts. "Well...," she began.
"Lavinia?" Wigmere said, looking at Grandmother strangely. "Is that you?"
Grandmother's head jerked up at the sound of Wigmere's voice. "Charles?" The two of them stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment, a moment where entire paragraphs of unspoken things passed between them.
"Sir!" the doctor interrupted. "You should come see this."
Alarmed at the urgency in his voice, I followed Wigmere over to the old Egyptian's side.
"Look." The doctor pointed to the wedjat eye tattooed at the base of Awi's throat.
Wigmere's eyes widened as he took in the ancient symbol, and then he looked sharply at me. "Who is this man?"
"It's rather a long story, sir," I said.
"Yes, of course. And you are cold and exhausted. As no doubt you are, madam," he said to Grandmother.
"I am fine," she said, rather stiffly. "Would you care to explain how you know my granddaughter?"