Theodosia and the Staff of Osiris-Theo 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

quit trying to pound it's way out of my chest.
    "Theodosia!" a voice called from the top of the stairs.
    "Yes, Mother?"
    "Did I hear a dog down there?"
    Bother! "Uh, no, Mother. Just me. Playing with Isis."
    "By acting like a dog?" She sounded truly puzzled.
    "Well, er, I was training her to defend herself. Against a dog."
    "But we have no dogs in the museum."
    "I know, but in case she should ever encounter one."
    There was a long pause. Finally Mother called down again. "Theodosia?"
    "Yes, Mother?"
    "It would be best if you didn't mention that game to your father, all right, dear?"
    "Whatever you say."
    "Excellent. Now come along. Your grandmother's arrived with a new governess in tow." Mum's voice was falsely cheerful, as if she could jolly me into believing this was a good thing. "She's waiting in the sitting room, and I'm leaving
right now for a meeting with the board of the Royal Archaeological Society. Your father's in his office. She's asked to see him, too."
    "But Mother, do you have to go?" It was much safer to face Grandmother in large numbers.
    "Yes, I really must. Duty calls. Goodbye, my darling!" Then there was the rapid click of her heels on the marble as she made her escape, no doubt from the back door where she could be sure to avoid Grandmother.
    With a sigh of frustration, I replaced the vessel on the table and made a mental note to be sure to rinse the salt water out of it when I got back. I would also need to be sure to wash all the salt from the Anubis statue later. But for now, I had a grandmother to confront.
    When I reached the top of the landing, I heard voices coming from Father's office. I thought Grandmother was in the sitting room, but perhaps she had gone into Father's office looking for us. I headed in that direction but quickly realized that although one of the voices was Father's, the other voice was most definitely not Grandmother's.
    "But I have all the same qualifications that Bollingsworth had."
    It was Fagenbush. And I must say, I'd never heard him sound so petulant.
    "I know you're disappointed, Clive, but I think it's for the best," Father replied. "Bollingsworth had a few more years' experience than you do," he explained.
    Bollingsworth. Just hearing that name made me shudder in revulsion. Father didn't know that the former First Assistant Curator had been a traitor. I wondered how much of Bollingsworth's experience had been gained while working for the Serpents of Chaos?
    "You are very talented at what you do," Father continued. "But you are quite young still, and I think a few years' more polish and maturity will serve you well. Now, I must go. I have someone waiting." Father stepped out into the hall and spied me. "Oh, there you are! I was just coming to fetch you. Your grandmother is here."
    "Yes. I know." Miserably uncomfortable, I stared at the floor and tried not to look at Fagenbush. But I could feel him staring sharp, pointy daggers at me, and almost against my will, I found myself looking up.
    Pure hatred flashed in his eyes. There was no question—Fagenbush knew I'd overheard the whole thing. And he would never forgive me for it.

CHAPTER FOUR
Miss Sneath
    F ATHER BID HIS MOTHER A QUICK HELLO , then hurried off, claiming he had an applicant waiting for him. Honestly! I couldn't believe that both my parents were abandoning me like this. Didn't they realize facing Grandmother Throckmorton was just as perilous as being stuck in a tomb in the Valley of the Kings? Of course,
then
they'd been willing to step in and save me, but now, when I truly needed them, they ran.
    I squared my shoulders and entered the sitting room. Grandmother looked especially fierce in her iron gray gown. Her beakish nose made her look like a bird of prey getting ready to pounce. Next to her sat a severe-looking woman
with a large jutting chin and small almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was scraped back so tightly against her head that it pulled her eyes back to a painful-looking slant.
    "Well, don't just