Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos-Theo 1 (12 page)

His pursuer drew closer and pulled a long black club out of his coat.

Tetley turned just in time to see the stick come down upon his head.

"He coshed the blighter!" Will said, sounding suspiciously cheerful about the whole thing.

Tetley crumpled like a falling soufflé, folding his body into a puddle on the ground. My hand flew to my mouth as I vowed not to scream. Was he dead? Or just unconscious? I couldn't tell. But it was obvious this fellow was playing for keeps!

The attacker (tall and very dashing, really, in a villainous sort of way) quickly knelt down and began searching Tetley's pockets. He found something in the upper coat pocket, which he took out and put in his own. He felt for Tetley's pulse, then stood up, adjusted his coat, straightened his hat, and turned back toward the street.

We jerked back out of sight. My mind was racing. Poor Tetley! Had I just witnessed a murder? Should I abandon the Heart of Egypt and go for help? I was at a loss for what to do. Luckily, Will took command.

"You two wait by the chip shop on the corner. I'll go this way and wait fer 'im down by the brewery. That way, whichever way 'e goes, we'll have 'im covered."

My indecision lifted when I heard a groan from the alleyway. Hopefully, if Tetley was well enough to groan, he was well enough to wait for help until Henry and I had retrieved the Heart of Egypt.

But before Will could get into position, the attacker quickly emerged from the alley and headed down Drury Lane toward the river. We all followed.

This time we hadn't even managed a whole block before we heard the sound of footsteps behind us. Honestly! Doesn't anyone in London have anything better to do than follow other people around?

Will caught my eye and jerked his head slightly up the street. I gave a tiny nod to let him know I'd heard the footsteps, too. He held up three fingers. Three pursuers.

And this time, of course, we couldn't count on the fellow we were following for any sort of help at all.

At Russell Street the man in front of us seemed to realize he was being followed (although I doubt he realized he was being followed by half of London!). He switched directions and moved away from the river, walking at such a furious clip that we had to trot like horses to keep up with him.

Of course, the pursuers were no idiots and quickly increased their pace until the whole lot of us were galloping down the street.

And nobody seemed to give a fig. On my side of Oxford Street, people would have at least stared, or shouted out a "Hey there!" But not on this side of Oxford Street. Here they shuffled quickly out of the way and stood back to watch the show.

The man ahead of us now seemed rather desperate to lose his pack of followers. He twisted and turned, taking side streets and back alleys, but we all doggedly stuck to his trail. We finally emerged along the back side of Covent Garden. The man tore around to the east side of the gardens, expertly dodging the straggling carts left over from the morning's market.

We emerged at the west end of the gardens into the courtyard of St. Paul's Church. Of course—he was going to seek sanctuary inside the church! Brilliant!

His other pursuers soon realized this as well. They oozed toward the stranger in front of us, moving with a lethal grace that reminded me of Isis when she was hunting mice. They fanned out, cutting off the victim before he could reach the church door. The three of us ducked behind one of the large columns to watch, hoping to stay out of sight.

The man who'd attacked Tetley drew out his truncheon and crouched in a fighting stance. Outnumbered, he struck first, taking the attackers by surprise. The surprise lasted only a moment before they swarmed him, fists flying.

Cornered now, he fought like a madman, swinging his bludgeon like a sword, using his elbows and kicking, but in the end, there were just too many of them. Two of the men finally grabbed his arms, and one of the others strode up to him, placed his arm around the man's neck as if he were hugging him, then jabbed him in the gut. As the assailant pulled away, the stranger collapsed to the ground. There was a vicious-looking knife in the other man's hand, covered in blood.

"Blimey," Will whispered.

"Blimey, indeed," said Henry, his eyes big and round.

I elbowed him in the ribs. These men were truly evil. We would be lucky to get out of this with our lives, never mind the Heart of Egypt.

"Shhst," Will hissed. "They're searching him like he did the other bloke."

Quickly and efficiently, they emptied the fallen man's pockets of everything they found, including whatever it was he had taken off Tetley (and I was betting it was the Heart of Egypt by their excited voices). One of the men—the one who'd stabbed him—pocketed this find and shouted triumphantly.

"That's German!" said Will.

He was right. I turned to look at him. "How do you know that?"

"Ain't I good enough to know German when I 'ears it?" he asked, sniffing.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course you are! I just meant where have you heard it before?"

"At one of them political rallies, that's where."

Ignoring Will's fit of pique, I turned my attention back to the men, who had stepped away from the body and were having a quick, hurried conversation in low voices. Then, one man at a time, they left the churchyard, each going in a different direction.

I was torn. We needed to check on the injured fellow. But I also needed to keep my eye on the Heart of Egypt. And at some point we had to get back to Tetley.

I turned to Will. "Can you follow the one who nabbed the package out of that man's coat?"

Will nodded.

"Don't do anything! Just follow him and find out where he goes. And for goodness' sake, be careful."

Will gave a quick nod. "Right-o. If I can get close enough, I might be able to pinch it right out of his pocket."

I grabbed his arm and gave it a little shake. His eyes widened in surprise. "Do not tangle with these men. They just stabbed a man in cold blood in the middle of a church square. I hate to think what they could do to you."

"Why, thank ye, miss. That's right kind o' you to care. But this is my territory. I'll be fine."

He got to his feet, still crouching low, and slipped away. Henry jumped up and tried to follow. I grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back down. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to follow the German. With Will."

"You'll do nothing of the sort. Will's a professional and can take care of himself. You'll just get into trouble. Besides, we need to see if we can help this fellow."

Henry muttered something about a bunch of tommyrot.

"Look," I whispered. "This is much more dangerous than merely following someone! He's a known attacker and basher of heads! He could still be alive and dangerous."

Henry perked up at that and followed me as I eased out of our hiding place.

We made our way over to the fallen man. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest, I feared it was going to leap out and run and hide in the church.

I've never been anywhere near a dead person before. Not even a dead thing. Well, except for the mummies and such, but they've been dead for such a long time they don't really count.

It was eerily quiet. No sounds of traffic or noise from the surrounding streets, as if the very stillness of death itself lay over the spot.

"It's jolly creepy, isn't it?" Henry whispered.

"Don't be such a little beast," I whispered back. I don't know why we were whispering, but it seemed the right thing to do in the presence of Death.

I saw the man's legs first, sticking out from behind the side of the building. I put my hand out to slow Henry down so he wouldn't tromp right over them. Slowly, I inched around, following the long black legs up to the man's body. He was so still, and his face was deathly white, as if all the blood had drained from it.

And so much blood! His entire waistcoat was dark red and there was a small puddle gathering off to his left. I strained to see if he was still breathing, but his chest didn't seem to be rising and falling. Not a good sign.

Gingerly, I knelt down as close to the body as I dared. I leaned forward, staring at the whiskers of his mustache. Were they moving at all?

I turned to Henry. "He's not breath—"

Hard, strong fingers clamped down on my elbow. I nearly shrieked, but ground my teeth together so no sound would escape. I scrabbled as far away from the man as I could, which wasn't very far, since he had attached himself to my arm like a limpet.

Henry was just putting his arms around me to help pull me away when the man croaked out a single word. "Help."

It was very feeble, but it was a word. And if he could speak, he wasn't dead. Which meant we had to help him. I let out a breath and forced myself to scoot closer in case he said anything else.

"Henry, I think we passed a police station on Bow Street. Do you think you can go back there and fetch some help?"

"Aren't you afraid they'll think we did him in?"

"That's rather wishful thinking. We're children. Children don't go around stabbing strangers."

The man's hand tugged on my sleeve, pulling me closer. "No p'lice," he managed to get out.

"But you're bleeding buckets all over the ground! We've got to get you some help."

"Som set hoo," he said.

Botheration! Now
he
was speaking a foreign language. Didn't anyone speak the Queen's English anymore? "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

The man licked his lips and tried again. "Somerset House. Help there."

"Somerset House?" Henry said.

"Yes. It's down a few blocks near the river," I explained.

"I know where it is!" Henry said. "But what kind of help will be there? I think it's very suspicious he doesn't want the police. How do we know he isn't leading us into a trap?"

"Why would he do that if we're trying to help him? Besides, if he gets patched up, he might be able to tell us how he found out about the you-know-what and why he coshed Tetley on the head to get it."

"You're daft if you think he's going to tell you that. He's got 'secret' written all over him."

I turned back to the man as he tugged on my sleeve again.

"Thir' floor. Antique' S'ciety." The man stopped talking and I thought perhaps he had fainted, or worse. Then he spoke again, only this time I had to practically put my ear on his mouth to hear.

"Wigmere. Only Wigmere." He clutched my sleeve and fought desperately to get the words out. "Tell him"—he drew one last shuddering breath—"forces of chaos..." Then his words dribbled to a stop.

T
HE MAN WAS SO PALE AND STILL
, I was afraid he wouldn't survive long enough for us to bring help. If only we had some medicine or bandages. Something that could help him hang on.

But of course—my amulets!

I reached up and lifted my small heart amulet out from under my collar and pulled it over my head.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked.

"Trying to save him," I said, carefully laying the amulet directly over his heart.

"By giving him a silly-looking necklace?"

"Oh, do shut up. Make sure this stays right where it is. Don't let him accidentally knock it off."

"But what is it?" Henry insisted.

"How can you spend half your life in a museum and not know what that is?" I asked, thoroughly exasperated. "It's an amulet. It will protect his life force until I return with help."

I frowned down at the injured man. He needed more than just spiritual help. I quickly stepped out of one of my petticoats. (How lucky I'd put two on that morning for extra warmth!)

"Here," I said, thrusting the petticoat at Henry.

He recoiled. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Make bandages, you ninny!"

Reluctantly, he reached out and clasped the petticoat gingerly between two fingers.

I gave him a disgusted look, then headed out of the churchyard. But as irritating as he was, I did not envy Henry having to keep watch over a nearly dead man.

I ran back through the narrow streets until I finally emerged on the Strand. There, directly across from me, stood Somerset House. It was large and imposing—nearly the size of a palace—with a thousand windows facing the street. Not wanting to call attention to myself, I slowed to a walk in order to cross the enormous courtyard. At the entrance, the doorman raised an eyebrow at me (I'm quite sure I looked horribly grubby) and asked my business.

I straightened my spine and tilted my chin, giving him my best imitation of Grandmother Throckmorton's haughty stare. "I'm here to see Wigmere with the Antique Society on the third floor."

"You mean the Antiquaries Society?"

"Er, yes. That." The man blinked once, then pointed me in the direction of the stairs. Perhaps having an over-grand relative comes in handy sometimes.

I went up the stairs, drawing a number of curious glances from the men who had business there at Somerset House (there didn't seem to be any women about). When I reached the third floor, I saw a large brass sign announcing the Antiquaries Society. Almost there.