“I know.” Simon gripped the key. “I know all too well.”
The portal opened in an unused cellar in what turned out to be the sprawling magnificence of Somerset House. Kate noted that it was the home of the Royal Society, of which her father had been a powerful member. It made perfect sense that he would maintain an entry spot there. After Simon and Kate recovered their senses, a quick cab ride to St. George in the East allowed Simon to inscribe temporary runes around the burying ground and in the doorways to the crypt. Simon’s bribe to a groundskeeper got them inside despite the still-obvious damage from what must have been a terrible fight with Barnes’s forces.
Once that was done, he and Kate set out for the British Museum. It was late afternoon and darkness was already descending. A few lights shone in the windows of Montagu House, the Jacobean mansion where the bulk of the collection resided and where Thomas Clover had bade them come. Kate’s letter from the curator was sufficient for a watchman to unlock the door and go upstairs to fetch their host. Simon and Kate waited in the foyer amidst stuffed beasts.
After a moment, Thomas appeared on the landing, smiling down at the pair. “Kate! Marvelous to see you. I have exciting news.” He padded down to meet them, sending the watchman back to his frigid rounds outside.
Simon noted that the young curator hesitated before greeting him. He knew the curse was taking its toll, and no matter how much he might wish it wasn’t so, his appearance was beginning to show the ragged edges of constant pain.
Thomas beckoned him and Kate down a corridor toward the rear of the house. “I finally recalled where I had seen those symbols.”
Thomas led them into a back salon that was cramped with desks and tables. There were items of antiquity scattered about: vases, small statues, pottery, and piles of coins. Papers with careful sketches and descriptions littered the room too. He went to a small desk in a dark corner and lit a lamp with a sudden look of embarrassment.
“This is my area. Not terribly large, I know, but I should improve with the new spaces. We’re abominably cramped here. Only a miniscule portion of the collection is capable of being displayed.”
“Long overdue,” Kate placated while looking over pages of hieroglyphics. “So are our symbols here?”
“Oh yes. Somewhere.” Thomas shuffled through large sheets of Egyptian script and drawings. He laughed at the disorganization. “Scholarship, eh? Ah! Here we are.” He laid a huge roll of drafting paper on top of the pile and spread it open to a length of five feet by three feet. There were ten lines of hand-copied hieroglyphics written across the sheet.
“What is this?” Kate asked.
Thomas said, “It’s a hymn to the god Ra. It … um … calls on him to come forth, to rise”—he pointed at the symbol he had identified earlier—“and protect his servants. The usual sort of things you ask a god in a hymn.”
Kate and Simon saw that the symbols branded on the heart of Madeleine Hawley, and supposedly the other sacrifices as well, were at the beginning and the end of the long string of hieroglyphs.
“Can you read this?” Simon asked Kate.
“A bit of it, but it’s quite old. It’s Heliopolitan to be sure. It summons Ra, then beseeches him to trample his enemies.” She ran her finger along the symbols to the end of the long string. “And here it appears to be calling him to return, to set like the evening sun.” Kate looked confused. “Why would Pendragon inscribe English churches with a spell for summoning an Egyptian sun god?”
“I don’t think he did exactly,” Simon replied. “I think he used the functional construct of this spell. The binding and summoning elements. It’s like taking a song written for violin and adapting it for pianoforte.”
“I’m sorry,” Thomas laughed nervously, “are you two still talking to me?”
Kate said, “Yes, Thomas, of course. From what did you transcribe this text?”
“A linen. A mummy linen.”
“This spell is written on a mummy?” Simon regarded the curator.
“No, just a linen. Part of a consignment we received years ago, I believe it came to us from a private collection. Nothing terribly exciting. Just a box with a very long strip of linen. This text was written on it. That’s the reason we never displayed it; it’s just a length of cloth in a box. Not very dramatic.”
Simon felt a surge of excitement going through him. He looked at Kate and her eyes were wide too. He smiled despite the fear that always accompanied the possibility that an artifact of unimaginable power was bubbling to the surface of the rational world. “Kate, are you thinking—”
“I am.” She studied the hieroglyphs on the paper again. “The Skin of Ra.”
Thomas looked between the two of them. “The Skin of Ra? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Simon joined Kate, staring at the symbols. “It’s a unique object, usually thought to be mythical. Like the Holy Grail or Excalibur.”