The Osiris Curse Read Online Free Page B

to the front door of Ravenstone Lodge,” said Tweed. “I mean, it's not like we can just leave them here, is it?”
    Octavia looked around in dismay at the devastation they had caused. “I hadn't thought about that.”
    â€œBuck up,” said Tweed. “I mean, what can he actually do?”
    â€œHe's a spy, Tweed. He can do a lot of things.”
    â€œHah. But can he? Really?”
    â€œYes,” said Octavia evenly. “He can. And I rather think he would.”
    Tweed hesitated. “Oh.” He thought about this for a second, then shrugged and grinned. “Oh well. Who wants to live forever? Besides, it will be worth it just to see the look on his face.”

Ravenstone Lodge was a hundred-year-old manor house that hunkered on the outskirts of London. It was a crumbling edifice covered in moss and ivy, slipping into ruin like a decrepit old man who had decided that personal hygiene simply wasn't something he was going to bother with anymore.
    The house was hidden from the prying eyes of the unwelcome (which pretty much meant everyone) by expansive, rambling grounds and a thick screen of ancient trees that ran around the perimeter of the property.
    At 4:43 on this wintery Thursday morning the house was in darkness. The brittle light of the full moon shone through naked tree branches, throwing gnarled and twisted shadows onto the ground. The frigid wind set the branches clacking, the shadows shifting and stretching as if they were skeletal hands trying to dig up the frozen earth.
    A fox screamed in the distance. An owl grumpily called out a reply.
    Then silence.
    Then…
    Clump clump. Hissss-s-s-s-s.
    Clump Clump. Clump, clump. Hiss-s-s-s-s.
    The owl opened one eye, glancing down from his perch in a tall chestnut tree to the lane leading up to the house.
    It stared. It ruffled its feathers. Then it opened its second eye, as if wasn't sure it was seeing correctly.
    Here is what it saw…
    Two twelve-foot automata moving inexpertly up the lane, staggeringand stumbling like drunkards. The automata held their arms out in front of them, and cradled in these arms were two bound and unconscious figures.
    The automata moved through the rusted iron gates and onto the graveled driveway that led up to the house. They stopped before the front door and one of the automata slowly lowered its arms to gently place its captive on the ground.
    And then a series of bright lights switched on, shining directly on the two constructs.
    â€œRaise your hands in the air,” said a crackly, disembodied voice. “I repeat, raise your hands in the air and do nothing more. Failure to comply will be treated as an act of aggression and will be dealt with severely.”
    The first automata slowly raised its arms. The second construct's arms shot upward as well. Unfortunately, the driver forgot what he was holding, and the bound figure sailed backward over the automaton's head and landed somewhere behind him.
    â€œDon't shoot, you idiots!” shouted a young man's voice. “It's us!” And then, “Oh. Did I just—?”
    The construct lumbered around in a circle and stared at the groaning figure now sprawled untidily on the gravel.
    â€œSorry about that.”

    â€œWhat were you thinking ?” snapped Barrington Chase.
    Octavia hung her head and stared at the richly patterned carpet. She could see Tweed's feet just to her right. He was moving his weight from one to the other, impatient, frustrated. She sighed. She could see how this was going to go.
    â€œWe were thinking about foiling a criminal syndicate that if leftunchecked would have cleaned out every bank in the city,” snapped Tweed.
    â€œThat's not your job, boy!”
    Octavia finally looked up. They were in the library of Ravenstone Lodge, surrounded by ceiling-high shelves of books, comfortable armchairs, and dim lamp light. Normally, she loved it here. It was so peaceful. So calming. Whenever Octavia stepped