Chapter 11
The pulsing of the amulet against my breastbone pulls me from a deep slumber.
Oh God, where am I?
Without giving me a moment to find my bearings, muffled voices slip into my waking subconscious.
“I believe she’s dead.”
“And how shit would you feel if that were true?”
“I’d be comforted by the fact that I can finally realize my lifelong dream of performing a Viking funeral on a flaming pyre at sea.”
A deep sigh. “Why are you like this?”
“Runs in the family, mate. There’s no escaping it.”
Someone scoffs. “Bully for me, all the idiocy passed to you.”
Some part of me recognizes the voices, but I’m still caught between asleep and awake, and I can’t trust my own mind.
A heavy pause sits between them for so long, I nearly fall back asleep.
“We won’t be able to keep the truth from her for much longer.”
The truth? What truth?
“She’s not your typical American imbecile,” the voice continues. “I’m sure she’s already begun to suspect that something’s not right. Perhaps we shouldn’t have spoken the passcode in front of her.”
Passcode… I begin to remember.
“She’s no fool, that’s for certain. If she does start asking questions, we’ll deal with that when the time comes,” the second voice reasons as sleep continues to loosen its hold over me.
“Until then, we need to do everything we can to make sure she—and the Amulet of Amun—are safe. I promised her we would.”
Promised… yes, Bes promised me.
Slowly, painfully, I begin to remember where I am and who I’m with: on a boat, with Bes Belzoni and Cecilio Giudice and Ailsa, on the run from the fascist God Men who will stop at nothing to obtain the Amulet of Amun.
The more traumatizing events from the day before try to weasel their way in, but I block them out.
Instead, I focus on Bes and Cec—who have no idea I’m listening to them. I even out my breathing to mimic sleep.
Becoming more aware of my surroundings in the silence, I try to make sense of what they’ve been going on about.
And can’t come up with much, considering the cryptic nature of it.
What could possibly be so important they need to hide it from me, a stranger?
Apparently important enough they can’t talk about it even when they think I’m asleep.
Or, by Cec’s assumption, dead.
I hope Nonna was right to put her trust in Arturo.
Placing my life in the hands of these people isn’t the best decision I’ve ever made.
They’ve proved it not to be the worst, either.
I’d absolutely be worse off in the clutches of the God Men, especially if Bes is right about retribution for killing one of their own.
They might not take my life in return, but they could make me wish for death. Or use Nonna as leverage.
Another weighty pause lingers on, then:
“You’re different around her,” Cec murmurs.
Bes grunts. “Don’t be ridiculous; we’ve only just met. She means nothing to me.”
My chest tightens at the declaration. Not that it should matter—not that he means all that much to me, either—but he didn’t have to get so defensive about the idea.
“That’s not true, Bes. And don’t try to deny it. I know you can’t see it—” Cec chuckles at his own self-deprecating misstep. “Apologies, bad form. But it’s bollocks you think you’re not worthy of some semblance of happiness. You don’t have to torture yourself like this. Not after all this time.”
All this time?
Much to my dismay, Bes changes the subject.
“Let’s focus on getting her to Uncle Arturo’s before the God Men catch up to us. She might even prove to be of some help.”
Help with what?
Cec clicks his tongue. “Wishful thinking, cousin”
Then, silence again.
The more awake I become, the sorer my body feels.
Especially my skinned knee from when I fell into the Osireion and the arm tucked awkwardly beneath my ribcage.
I try to shift my shoulder subtly. But all I manage to do is pull a muscle in my neck.
An ungh escapes my throat and crosses my lips before I can stop it.
“Not dead then,” Cec confirms.
A muffled thud sounds. “If you weren’t blind, I’d make you go into town with Ailsa for supplies.”
Footfalls clamor up the stairs.
“Only mostly blind, mate,” Cec hollers.
With Cec and I alone now, I know he knows I’m awake. But he doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to acknowledge his presence, but I allow myself to take another moment to assess my current state.
Uncomfortable in clothes already caked in sand and sweat, grime sticks to my skin in a thin film.
My mouth tastes like something crawled up inside and died, and muscles I didn’t know existed ache terribly.
But I’m lucky to be alive, and that’s enough.
At least until I can find a half-decent bathtub and hot running water.
When the boat gradually comes to a stop and the engines cut off, I open my eyes—finding Cec perched on the bed beside me. He doesn’t say or do anything except stare at me with his milky gaze. It’s a bit unnerving at first. Then again, he could think he’s staring at a lump of clothes.
Sunlight beams in through the raised threshold across from me and the small circular windows I didn’t notice in the dark last night, searing my eyeballs. I groan again. Scrambling for the edge of the ornate duvet, I pull it over my head. Blissful darkness takes me again.
“Good morning, dearest,” Cec croons.
I groan for a third time. “I loathe you.”
Cec chuckles. “Sticks and stones, love. You catch more sugar with honey.”
I peek over the top of the covers, forcing myself to acclimate to the sunlight. “That’s not how the saying goes.”
Cec shrugs. “It’s not strictly incorrect though.”
I open my mouth to reiterate how much I loathe him, and it’s as dry as the Egyptian desert.
Cec must hear the sound of my parched lips scraping against one another like sandpaper, because he fumbles deftly for the new full glass of water perched on the nightstand.
Grasping it at the base, he offers it to me.
“Is it poisoned?”
Before he can answer, I take it from him and gulp down its entire contents. A few dribbles slosh down the side of my mouth and onto my shirt. I don’t care.
Cec chuckles as I swallow the last of it. “Bit of a moot point now if it is.”
I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, tasting the salt from my dried sweat. “I’ve lived long enough.”
His expression turns serious, and he places a hand over mine. His fingers are soft, and unlike Bes, his knuckles are unmarred. Sensing his shift in mood, I set the empty water glass back on the nightstand and sit up completely.
“Bes told me about his promise to protect you, and I stand by it. No harm will come to you while you’re in our care.”
I fight the urge to place my hand over his. Although he no doubt means well, if I’ve learned anything in my twenty-two years of life, it’s that nothing is certain. The last day or so has proved that.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Cecilio; the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Cec considers this. “I thought it was paved with lawyers and abusers?”
I try to think of a quip when my stomach abruptly voices its discontent. I didn’t realize until now that I’m no longer nauseous—actually, I’m rather hungry. Which, if I don’t remedy quickly, will be a burden to everyone onboard.
“Do we have anything to eat?”
Cec must’ve heard my stomach moan as well because he grins. “We’re docked in Messina. Bes and Ailsa will be back soon with food and enough fuel to hold us over until our next stop.”
“Messina?” I throw the covers off and stand too quickly. Head spinning, I place my hand on the bed and give myself a moment.
He amends, “At the tip of Italy’s boot, yes.”
“Italy?” I practically scream. Immediate regret sets in when the inside of my throat burns with the effort. When the hell did we get to Italy? I glance at my watch, wishing I’d set it to the right damn time. “Jesus, how long was I out for?”
“Approximately thirty hours, give or take.”
I balk. I’ve never slept that long before. I must’ve needed it.
Gripping my throat, I say, “That doesn’t seem healthy.”
He shrugs. “You were awake for some of it.”
I blink at him. “Huh? I don’t remember that.”
“Ah, so that’s why you wouldn’t stop talking about the time your knickers—”
“Oh, do shut up a moment,” I interrupt. “Now, remind me what exactly the plan is here.”
Cec straightens. “Once we leave Messina, we’ll make one more stop to refuel before heading to the Port of Civitavecchia. There’s… something there which Arturo needs Bes and I to obtain. Then, we’ll make our way to the final port before the Dolomites, where Arturo lives.”
I press my palms into my eyes, knowing I likely won’t remember all that. “Alright, give me a moment to change and I’ll come up.”
Cane and guiltless smirk in tow, Cec heads for the stairs without a fuss.
Though he won’t be able to see me, I wait to undress until after I’m certain he’s on deck. I open my suitcase to take out a clean pair of underwear, bra, and a short-sleeve, light blue button-up; my tan pants can survive another couple of days.
First, I undo my braid, allowing my thick, blonde hair to billow out around me in long, slight waves.
After stripping down, I wet a hand towel from the kitchenette to wipe under my arms and other sensitive areas before tossing it in a small bin that looks like it’s meant for laundry.
I hurriedly find the Mum deodorant I packed and swipe it under my arms, then button my shirt, tucking it into my pants.