Mirror, page 19
She stared at him for a long moment before nodding and looking away.
“That was not very convincing,” he said, stepping toward her, unable to stop the urge to comfort her. “What is it?”
She shifted away from him slightly and he stopped.
He couldn’t apologize for what he’d said earlier, for he did not regret it, but he did hate seeing her like this.
Finally, she met his eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but she was interrupted.
“Oi! Doctor!” Tommy called, hurrying excitedly down the hall toward them before pulling up short as he noticed the intensity of the moment he’d interrupted.
Victor glared at the boy but schooled his expression at Tommy’s earnest confusion.
“Sorry,” Tommy said, glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t mean to ….”
Victor hazarded a glance at Artemis, but whatever she was going to say wouldn’t be said now.
“It’s all right,” Victor said. “What is it?”
Tommy held up the newspaper. “It’s this,” he said, showing them an article in the paper about the Egyptian exhibit opening tomorrow at the British Museum.
“Yes, what about it?”
His face lit up in a bright smile. “This,” he said, jabbing a finger at a photograph of one of the artifacts in the exhibit. “This stick thing.”
Victor took the paper from him and scanned the article. Artemis came to his side to read along. There was a single photograph of one of the items from the collection: an extraordinarily elaborate staff entwined with two serpents.
“The Scepter of Heka?” Victor asked. Tommy shrugged until he showed him the picture again. “This?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.”
“It what?” Artemis asked. “What did I miss?”
“The same thing I did, apparently,” Victor added, confused.
“I’ve seen it before. Not like that, but I saw it alright,” Tommy said, nearly bursting with excitement. “‘Member those drawings on the wall at that Leroux fella’s place?”
He pointed at the scepter. “That’s what I saw. Different bits and bobs. But they were all that …”
“Scepter,” Victor supplied, his own excitement at the connection growing. If Leroux had drawn pictures of the scepter that could mean only one thing—he wanted it and planned on using it.
“The drawings were of this?” Victor asked, not wanting to get his hopes up too quickly. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. That’s helpful, right?” Tommy asked, looking pleased with himself.
Victor smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, yes, it is. Well done.”
Tommy beamed at the praise.
“I don’t understand,” Artemis said. “How does this help? I mean, I suppose it’s good we know he is interested in it, but …”
“This goes on display first thing tomorrow morning at the British Museum. If you were Leroux and you wanted it, what would you do?”
He could see the light dawn in Artemis's eyes. “I’d steal it. Tonight.”
Victor let himself smile for the first time that day. “I think, for once, we might actually be one step ahead of our Monsieur Leroux.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Good to see you,” Mr. Darvill said as he shook Artemis's father’s hand and shuttled them inside one of the side entrances to the British Museum.
Only a few lights lit the dim hallway as they made their way deeper into the museum. It felt odd to Artemis, being here with no one else around. Even though it was relatively quiet during business hours, there was always a soft murmuring of voices and shuffling of footsteps on the marble floors. Now, with the lights low and the crowds gone, it was unnatural. It was empty but somehow felt overstuffed with silence.
“This way,” Mr. Darvill said. “It’s upstairs with the new exhibit.”
He led them through the back hall to the King’s Library and manuscript salon. Barely flickering lights danced off the glass cases holding ancient manuscripts from every possible civilization. Maps, drawings and early printings filled shelves and sat in display cases.
They passed through another smaller library and out into the main vestibule. The high ceiling was lit with only the faint glimmer of a distant light and their footfalls echoed in the room.
“I hope we’re wrong, of course,” Mr. Darvill said, “but I have to admit I do find this all rather exciting.”
Her father grunted in response to that and shared a look with Artemis. Exciting was not a word either of them would use. Arthur Darvill was an academic, and there was nothing theoretical about what was happening on the streets of London.
“Of course, I’ve been anticipating something like this for some time,” he went on, his soft voice sounding absurdly loud in the hollow chamber.
“How so?” Artemis asked.
Mr. Darvill gave a small, almost embarrassed, laugh. “Well, besides innumerable talismans and amulets that potentially contain magical abilities sitting in cases on display, I’m fairly certain we have the Leviathan’s hide, Bragi’s harp, and, quite possibly, the Siege Perilous.”
Artemis had no idea what the first two were, but the third she knew. It was supposedly the vacant seat from King Arthur’s roundtable reserved for the knight who found the Holy Grail.
“Really? From the roundtable?”
She’d love to see that. She’d read and adored both Le Morte d’Arthur and Idylls of the King.
“I think so,” Mr. Darvill said, “And who knows what all they’ve got tucked away in the basement.”
All romantic thoughts of Lancelot and Guinevere fled. She had enough to worry about with the scepter. The idea that there were other mystical artifacts, maybe dozens, just sitting there waiting for someone to wield them was deeply troubling.
She was still angry with her father, but less so, and it was honestly comforting to have him here. She tried to catch his eye, but his focus was busy keeping a watchful eye out for Leroux. Wisely so. They’d arrived not too long after closing, allowing enough time for the staff to leave, but it paid to be cautious and alert.
“Of course,” Mr. Darvill went on as he led them up the large principle staircase that would take them to the first floor, “no one else here realizes what we’ve truly got. They think they’re simply relics of history.” He paused on the small landing break between the sets of stairs. “But they are so much more.”
His eyes trailed over the room stretching out below. “The power that resides inside these walls keeps me up at night.”
“Like tonight?” Artemis asked.
He let out a nervous breath and then started back up the stairs. “Yes. If this Leroux manages to steal the scepter, I shudder to think what he might be able to do. Or the witch in his employ rather. A totem such as that in the hands of a potent magic user ….”
“We must stop him,” her father said. “No matter the cost.”
“It’s that powerful? I know Heka was the God of Magic—”
“He isn’t exactly the God of Magic,” Mr. Darvill interjected as they climbed up the second level of steps. “He is magic personified. A divinity present at the moment of creation, the force behind the Gods. He is the power by which thoughts and commands become reality. He could take the lifeless and give them a soul.”
Artemis tried to repress the shudder that ran through her but could not. Her father sensed it and looked down at her, sharing the disquiet at what someone like Leroux might do if he were to wield such power.
“The user of the scepter wouldn’t have the power of a god, but ….” Mr. Darvill said, trailing off and letting the potential speak for itself.
“Why would they put something like that on public display?” she asked.
“Because they don’t know what they have, my dear. They have no idea of what sits under this roof.”
They’d nearly reached the top of the second set of stairs when her father looked around the empty museum. “Are there no guards on duty tonight?”
She wondered about that, too. Even if they didn’t know what magical treasures their collections housed, the artifacts were still invaluable. She couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t take steps to protect them.
Mr. Darvill paused, a frown coming over his face in the dim light. “Yes. Several actually.”
He peered down one of the nearly darkened hallways. “As a matter of fact, we should have come across Willie by now and Charlie should be up here.”
They stood amongst the painted terra cotta vases in the gallery and listened for the telltale sound of footsteps as the guards made their rounds, but there was none. It was completely silent and still until they heard a loud thump followed by the high-pitched and unmistakable sound of shattering glass.
They all rushed toward the sound. As they rounded a corner, they stumbled across a body lying in the middle of the floor. They all came to a stop, and her father knelt down to search for the man’s pulse.
Another crashing sound came from down the hall where she could just make out a shaft of light coming out of a room at the end of the gallery. There was nothing she could do for the guard, so she continued down the hall.
Artemis drew her sword and burst into the room. Mr. Darvill, wheezing slightly, came in behind her.
She stopped in shock at the scene before her. The room was another long gallery with display cases lining each side of it. It was perhaps forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. At its center was a large, now-shattered glass case where the scepter must have once laid. Standing next to it was a mountainous creature, nearly ten feet tall that looked to be made out of some sort of rough stone or clay. Its massive blocky head swiveled at the sound of their arrival.
“Oh, my,” Mr. Darvill gasped. He took a step forward and gazed at the creature with wonder. “I’ve never seen one of you before.”
Just behind the beast, Artemis could see Leroux. Their eyes caught each other’s and a smile creased his face as he shifted the scepter from one hand the other. Then he said something she couldn’t hear and with a speed that seemed impossible for its bulk, the creature moved toward them.
Artemis's father arrived at that moment and took hold of her arm as they both reflexively took a few steps back, but Mr. Darvill stood where he was, either entranced or terrified.
“Arthur!” her father urged as he moved forward to snatch his friend back, but he was too slow.
The creature knocked Mr. Darvill aside with one big stone hand, and the little man flew through the air as if he were nothing but a fly swatted aside. He crashed sickeningly into the far wall, groaning in pain and sliding down to the floor, cradling his arm. Her father ran to his side, and the creature moved to follow, smashing a nearby case with its enormous fists as it moved closer to them.
Leroux watched the scene with pleasure, then lifted the scepter in a mock salute and left through the far door.
“Stop him!” her father exclaimed, glancing toward Leroux as he helped Mr. Darvill up. “He mustn’t get away with the scepter!”
He managed to pull Mr. Darvill out of the creature’s way just before it brought a fist smashing down onto them.
Artemis watched her father anxiously as he helped Mr. Darvill before turning back to see Leroux heading for the door at the far end of the hall.
“Go!” her father commanded, but she couldn’t.
The creature lumbered toward them. With Mr. Darvill’s near-dead weight, her father was moving too slowly. They wouldn’t be able to escape it.
Her heart pounding, and with one last look in Leroux’s direction, Artemis approached the beast. She raised her sword and summoned the power of Hellfire. The flames licked the edge of her blade and lit the room, and the darkness inside her whispered that it was awake.
It was unnerving, feeling something evil, something wrong inside her, but she’d managed to control it so far, and tonight would be no different. Ignoring the pull of it, she focused on the creature.
She raised her sword high above her head and brought it down in a mighty arc right into the creature’s side. But it was like striking stone. The blade glanced off its hard flesh, only a few shards of rock cutaway. Her hands ached from the vibration, but she swung again, this time at the back of its knee, which seemed somehow more vulnerable than the broad flat of its back. The stone chipped away again, more than before, and the creature stumbled.
It stopped its pursuit of her father and pivoted to face her.
“That’s right,” she called. “Over here.”
With its full attention on her, her father eased Mr. Darvill down in a corner.
The creature’s face was oddly impassive. The eyes were just holes in the block that made up its face. Its mouth was little more than an open wound that moved soundlessly as it cried out in silence.
That’s not creepy at all, she thought, suppressing a shudder.
“Come on. This way,” she beckoned it, trying to draw it away from Mr. Darvill and her father.
It took several steps toward her, its long legs eating up the space between them quickly. Artemis struck it with her sword, but it did little good. Again, only bits of it broke away like chips of wood made by a small axe, and still it came. She stepped backward as it came toward her, swinging her sword to do as much damage as she could.
Suddenly, it lunged forward, bringing one of its great hands down toward her as it had done with Mr. Darvill and her father. Artemis leapt out of the way just in time, and the creature smashed its fist into the marble floor in what appeared remarkably like anger, shattering the old stone where she’d stood a moment before.
That was close.
It might look lumbering, but it wasn’t. It was deceptively quick when it wanted to be. And apparently, it wanted to be.
It tromped toward her and she swung her sword wildly to stave off its advance, inadvertently backing herself up against a wall.
She hacked away at its hand as it reached for her, finally knocking off a few fingers, but her elation was short-lived as she realized she was trapped between two display cabinets.
“Here!” her father cried and hurled an ancient canopic jar across the room that shattered harmlessly against the creature’s head. “Over here.”
He stood in the center of the room and waved his arms. Slowly, the creature turned and moved toward him.
Artemis barely had time to breathe before the creature walked toward her father. She ran after it and began hacking at it from behind, but it kept moving forward. Her father tried to move away, but the creature was again deceptively quick, and one meaty hand reached out, grabbing her father by the throat and lifting him off the ground.
Artemis swung her sword as hard as she could but it was no use. Her father’s choking gasps tore into her soul.
She came around to cut at the arm that held him and her heart lodged in her throat at the sight of her father, dangling, struggling to breathe.
No, no, no!
She hacked at the arm that held him, again and again, then finally listened to the whispering darkness inside her. It would give her more strength, but she was afraid of it.
As her father’s gasps for breath became more acute, she put away her fear and let the darkness that whispered inside her out just a little bit more.
A surge of power rushed through her body as if her blood was on fire, and she struck a blow that snapped the arm off like branch shorn from a tree. Her father fell to the floor, desperately pulling in breath, but alive. Somehow, he managed to pry the now-unmoving hand from his throat and toss it aside.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Her father could only manage a nod, but she’d take it.
Thank God, Artemis thought, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat.
The creature seemed to cry out again, its mouth open wide with rage and pain but no sound came out.
She tried again to lure the creature away from him, which didn’t seem to be a problem now. Despite its near featureless face she could see fury in it as it clomped toward her.
“The mouth,” Mr. Darvill cried. He leaned against the wall where her father had dragged him. Forcing himself to stand, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts from the pain, he slowly moved toward her.
“The mouth,” he said again. “It’s a golem. There’s a paper in its mouth. It contains the spell that gives it life. You’ve got to remove the paper.”
Is he serious? From its mouth?
“Take the paper out and the creature will die,” Mr. Darvill said.
Sure. Sounded easy enough, or would be if she had the vaguest notion of how to do that. Then, an idea occurred to her and she called out to her father, who was massaging his neck but seemed otherwise all right.
“When I say hit it, do so with all you’ve got. Right in the back of the leg.”
“What?” he asked, his voice barely a croaking sound.
“The back of its knee. When I tell you to.”
He still appeared dazed but seemed to understand.
She moved close enough to toss him her sword. The flames extinguished as soon as it left her hand, and her father caught it effortlessly it by the hilt and then swung it expertly in the air as if this were something he did every day.
Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, she realized how impressive he was with it.
Pulling her thoughts back to the golem, she tried to clear her mind. Just as she had in training, she stopped thinking and let her instincts take over.
“Call to it,” she urged him, her eyes never leaving it.
Her father was surprised at her request, but did as she asked.
He waved the sword in front of him and tapped it onto the floor to draw its attention. “Over here!”
As soon as the creature twisted its head toward him, she ran as fast as she could and leapt up onto its back. The body was so wide it was nearly impossible to hold onto it, but she scrambled up its back and clung to its neck.
The golem spun around, causing her legs to fly out behind her as it tried to reach back and pluck her off, but she held on tightly.
