The Osiris Curse by Paul Crilley Page A

can’t just weigh up a person’s worth!” said Tweed angrily. “What if someone does that to you?”
    Chase arched an eyebrow at him. “Fortunately, I’m important enough that my worth will most likely outweigh whoever I’m measured against.”
    â€œNot if I’m the one doing the measuring,” said Tweed darkly.
    Octavia put a hand on Tweed’s arm. “Let’s go,” she said softly. There was no point in staying here. They’d get no help from Chase.
    â€œMake sure you go home,” called out Chase as they stepped into the corridor. “Play with your toys or whatever it is that children do.”
    They left the house and headed for Tweed’s steamcoach. Octavia glanced over her shoulder and saw Temple watching them, framed by warm light from inside the library. He shrugged apologetically.
    Octavia climbed into the passenger side of the coach. “What’s our next move?” she asked as Tweed pumped the bellows.
    â€œYou heard the man. We return to our homes like good little children and let the grown-ups do their work.”
    Octavia looked at him in astonishment. Tweed tried to hold his serious face for as long as he could, then he broke into a grin and elbowed her rather painfully in the ribs. “Only kidding. What do you think we do? We track down Molock and get your mother back.”
    He started the steamcoach and turned it so they were facing the house. “Promise me one thing,” he said, watching Temple and Chase deep in conversation.
    â€œAnything.”
    â€œIf I ever start talking like that—weighing up a person’s worth like…like pieces in some great game…” He turned and looked deep into her eyes. “You tell me, yes? I don’t want to end up like Chase.”
    â€œYou won’t,” said Octavia, slightly unsettled at Tweed’s serious turn.
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œBecause you’ve got me,” she said, and broke into a brilliant smile. “Now come on. Let’s go see what these hieroglyphs mean.”
    Tweed’s gaze lingered, watching Chase through the window of the library. His lip curled in disgust, then the steamcoach lurched forward, throwing up two streams of gravel behind them.

    Professor Bainbridge opened the door to Octavia’s polite knock. She couldn’t help noticing he looked slightly disappointed to see them.
    â€œForgive me. I was hoping it was Dr. Stackpole.”
    â€œHe hasn’t arrived yet?”
    It was two hours since they’d left Ravenstone Lodge. She and Tweed had stopped to eat some lunch before coming to the museum, and Octavia had spent the time trying to make sure Tweed didn’t wallow in his anger. That kind of thing wasn’t healthy.
    Bainbridge ushered them in. A woman of about sixty was seated in front of Bainbridge’s desk. She stood up and smiled politely as Octavia and Tweed entered.
    â€œHello. I’m Professor Rowe,” she said, shaking hands with them both. “You must be the youngsters who brought the ring to the professor. I wonder, may I see it?”
    Tweed took the ring out and handed it over. Octavia was suddenly glad he hadn’t given it to Chase. Professor Rowe sat down and examined it by the desk lamp.
    â€œAh, yes. This makes much more sense.”
    Bainbridge scurried over and sat down next to her. “It means something?”
    â€œIndeed. You see, Stackpole didn’t have the complete drawing. He couldn’t have seen this. But look here. The actual ring is shaped like an eye. The eye adds something to the meaning. It is part of the picture.”
    â€œSo what does it tell you?” asked Tweed.
    â€œWell, this symbol here of the man on his knees. That is a stylized hieroglyph for death. But these lines here? I think they are meant to represent the Sekhem Scepter—a symbol of power from ancient Egypt. The Sekhem Scepter encapsulates the concept of