Forty-Six
E llie wasn’t sure how much sleep she managed to get after finally returning to the camp of the Ibn Rashid, but it certainly didn’t feel like enough. Her limbs were heavy as they made a warm departure from Sheikh Mohammed and his strikingly good-looking family—whom Ellie was fairly certain had not slept at all themselves, being too busy celebrating the wedding.
They had gained an extra member of their party in the process of their departure. When Adam had taken his leave of the scrawny yellow dog—a ritual which had involved him kneeling down on the ground and then flopping over entirely as the wriggling animal assaulted him with its tongue—the sheikh had made a declaration with a wave of his hand.
“That is your dog now,” his dashing brother, Samir, had succinctly translated for them.
Ellie’s stomach had sunk… but when Adam’s face lit up like a rising sun, she’d found herself incapable of making any protest.
When Adam had asked for the animal’s name—while vigorously rubbing at its ears as the beast gazed up at him in obvious bliss—Samir had told him Kalb .
“What does ‘kalb’ mean?” Ellie had quietly asked her brother.
“Er… Dog?” he replied awkwardly.
And so the dog—named Dog—trotted happily in their wake all the way to Al Mutiah, where Mr. Mahjoud booked them a pair of first-class compartments on the next departure up the now-repaired train line. Ellie had given in to the urge to close her eyes for a moment as they pulled out of the station—and the next thing she knew, she was blinking into wakefulness as the golden light of late afternoon streamed in through the window.
She was slumped against Adam’s shoulder. For something so solid, it made a remarkably comfortable pillow. Still, she sat up with a start, conscious of Padma sitting in regal splendor on the opposite bench of their compartment between Constance and Mr. Mahjoud.
Kalb looked up at her from where he lay sprawled across Adam’s boots.
“Goodness. I must have dozed off,” Ellie observed as the train jerked to a stop. “What station is this?”
“Cairo,” Adam replied wryly.
She looked up at him in surprise—and spotted a distinct damp spot on the pale fabric of his shirt.
“You’ve a bit of…” Ellie trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she realized the most likely source of the puddle on Adam’s shoulder.
Not that she was typically prone to drooling in her sleep.
Adam grinned back at her mercilessly as Kalb thumped his tail against the floor.
They disembarked quickly, as they had hardly any luggage to speak of. Even Padma had traveled exceptionally lightly, proving that she was quite capable of forgoing some of her usual finery when engaging in a pursuit.
They met up with Sayyid, Zeinab, and the other ladies out in the busy forecourt of the railway station, which was crowded with carriages, donkeys, and street vendors.
Ellie spotted a burly figure in a striped galabeya beside a cart full of little blue statues. She recognized her fake antiquities vendor and gave him a friendly wave.
The man’s eyes widened, and he quickly tapped his donkey, urging it into a trot that set his reproduction artifacts rattling as he made his escape.
Jemmahor sported a scrape on her chin. She wore it under her grin like a badge of honor. “You must promise you will not leave Egypt without seeing me again!” she threatened.
“Happily,” Ellie assured her.
“And I have not forgotten that you promised to teach me this jiu jitsu,” Jemmahor added pointedly to Constance.
“Oh, I think you will be absolutely splendid at it!” Constance assured her.
Umm Waseem stuck out her hand. “Allah yehmeeky, okhti. E'meli mashakel kteer.”
Ellie clasped Umm Waseem’s palm warmly. “But what is she saying?”
“She asks for God to protect you while you cause more trouble,” Jemmahor cheerfully translated.
“Ila l-liqa’,” Umm Waseem finished with a hint of mischief.
She slung her canvas bag over her shoulder and slipped away, quickly indiscernible from the many other black-cloaked ladies that crowded the street.
“You all right?” Adam asked as Ellie watched the old smuggler go. “You look a bit like someone just made off with your puppy.”
“I was hoping to quiz Umm Waseem on the finer points of working with nitroglycerin compounds,” Ellie mused forlornly. “Only everything has happened so quickly.”
“Aww,” Adam said lightly. “What a shame.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think it’s a shame at all.”
“I’m still recovering from the last time you got your hands on a pile of dynamite,” Adam replied. “Now come on. I think our ride is here.”
He steered her toward the Tyrrell carriage, which had pulled up to wait by the station door. They took a quick leave of Sayyid and Zeinab, who promised to rejoin them after they had checked on their home.
After all, they had a good deal to talk about.
?
Ellie could still feel the exhaustion in her bones as she trudged into the cool, palm-shaded courtyard of the Tyrrells’ Cairo house. The fountain tinkled musically beside the clean-swept tiles under the shade of the softly rustling palms.
Lady Sabita and Sir Robert sat at one of the wrought-iron tables. Sir Robert browsed a newspaper while Lady Sabita sorted through the post. She spoke distractedly as they entered, barely glancing up.
“Oh! Are you back from your excursion already?” she asked. “Was it very nice? Maa said you were going all the way to Aswan.”
Constance stopped short in front of Ellie, causing Ellie to nearly collide with her. She cast a quick and uncomfortable look over at her grandmother.
Padma had apparently taken the effort to concoct a cover story for them before setting out in pursuit.
The kumari smiled dangerously, and Constance blanched—undoubtedly considering how many more favors had just been added to her Aai’s count.
“Aswan! Yes!” Constance blurted out, flashing her mother a bright smile. “Ellie’s brother joined us, as you can see, and it was lovely. They had the most beautiful…”
“Temples to Ramses II and Nefertari,” Ellie filled in with a mutter.
“Some very nice quarries as well,” Neil added. “I have been wanting to see them. I mean—had,” he corrected himself with a slightly panicked look at Ellie and Constance. “Had been wanting. Because now I have seen them, and they were splendid!”
At Neil’s painfully awkward tone, Lady Sabita finally looked up from her letters. Her eyes immediately widened.
“But you look as though you have been through a robbery!” she exclaimed. “Has something happened?”
Ellie was conscious of the rip in her blouse and the scab on Adam’s split lip. Even Neil was showing the shadow of a beard—though it paled in comparison to the scruff on Adam’s jawline. They were all wearing the same clothes they had left in nearly a week before, which were looking significantly worse for wear.
They had acquired a scruffy dog.
“You wouldn’t believe it, Maa!” Constance cut in quickly. “All the better carriages were full, and we had to travel third class!”
“All the way from Aswan?” Lady Sabita exclaimed with obvious horror as she rushed toward them. “You poor things! That must have been absolutely dreadful. We shall have to coddle you soundly. Come—let’s get you all a change of clothes. And a wash,” she added awkwardly, stopping a few steps shy and giving them an unenthusiastic sniff.
“Sounds good to me,” Adam said happily. “I’ve been itching for another turn in that sauna.”
“Thank you, Lady Sabita.” Ellie forced a tired smile. “That would be lovely.”
?
A few hours later, Ellie stepped into the meshrabiyeh-screened salon on the roof to find Constance sprawled across the cushions, shamelessly stuffing her face with dates. The tortoiseshell cat had returned as well—if it had ever left. It dozed on a pillow above her head.
Zeinab sat beside her in a fresh galabeya of midnight blue embroidered with gold, with a hijab to match. She leaned tiredly against her husband. Sayyid’s fez was back in place, which he looked quite relieved about.
Neil looked far less comfortable as he tried to settle himself on the piled cushions. He had managed to shave, and his hair was still wet from a wash. Mr. Mahjoud had sent someone to fetch some of Neil’s spare clothes out of storage, and so he, too, had been able to indulge in a change. Ellie couldn’t be sure when it would be safe for him to fetch his things from the dig site at Saqqara—if ever.
With his crooked spectacles, he looked overwhelmed and slightly forlorn.
Ellie sat down next to him. He blinked at her as though a bit surprised to find her there.
Adam rubbed a towel through his wet hair as he stepped out from the stairwell. He had donned a clean shirt and trousers, even deigning to shrug into a pair of braces, but had foregone a coat, clearly using the extremity of their circumstances as a continued excuse to avoid putting on a jacket. Kalb trotted worshipfully at his heels.
His gaze moved unerringly to Ellie and locked there. His mouth broke into a boyish grin.
Ellie found herself grinning back—and remembering the feel of calloused hands on her skin under a sprawling desert sky.
Deliberately, Adam crossed to her side. He dropped onto the cushions… and set his arm around her shoulders.
Neil stared at the casually intimate gesture. Constance smirked a little triumphantly.
Zeinab met Ellie’s gaze, her green eyes glittering with quiet approval.
The dog flopped down by their feet.
Something glowed warmly inside Ellie’s chest, and she let herself settle against Adam’s side.
The sky blushed with the warm rainbow of an Egyptian dusk as the call for the sunset prayer echoed musically through the close-packed rooftops. The jasmine vines twining through the meshrabiyeh screens had opened, their scent mingling with a muddy hint of the great river on the evening breeze.
“Well, then,” Ellie began. “Now we are all here, I suppose it is time to tie up our loose ends.”
Constance stuffed another date into her mouth. “It seems Aai has covered for us with my parents—though I am frankly terrified to think of how many favors she will add to her tally for that.”
“What about the Staff of Moses?” Adam prompted.
“Julian will keep trying to retrieve it,” Constance pointed out.
Ellie looked to Zeinab, who had stuffed the two bronze pieces of the was-scepter into the voluminous pockets of her abaya back in Amarna.
Sayyid let out a puff of breath. “My father concealed the arcana he discovered within the collection of the Egyptian Museum,” he reminded them. “Though of course, when he did that, nobody but him realized they were anything other than ordinary artifacts.”
“I’m sure the museum has an extensive collection of was-scepters,” Ellie mused. “But if Julian or one of his minions got a good look at this one, it’s possible they could identify it from among the others.”
“Or it could be sold off,” Neil admitted.
“Which would be perfectly legal,” Sayyid added grimly.
“Not the museum, then,” Constance concluded. “What if we brought it back to the Ibn Rashid? From what I gather, they’re constantly moving about, and those men looked quite ferocious.”
Her mouth widened into a dreamy smile, and Ellie knew she was thinking of what else the men of the Ibn Rashid had looked like besides ferocious .
“They may be quite fierce, but heaven knows what influence Julian Forster-Mowbray’s masters might bring to bear on them,” Ellie warned.
“Quite a bit, I should imagine.” Constance reached for another date. “Considering that Lord Yardborough is one of them.”
“I beg your pardon?” Ellie said, straightening with surprise.
Constance’s eyes widened. “Oh, I never did mention that, did I? We were simply swept right into all the tomb raiding and daring escapes, and it completely slipped my mind. While I was on the Isis , I quite cleverly lured Julian into confessing who is actually behind all of this. Not that it was very hard to do—he has always been quick to brag about how well-connected he is. It’s some organization that is pulling all the strings—a club of sorts who call themselves the Order of Albion.”
“A club? ” Ellie echoed, aghast.
“That matches up with what Dawson was yammering about back in Tulan,” Adam offered. “He kept telling me he worked for some super-secret important organization.”
“Julian rattled off a whole list of names,” Constance went on. “There was Yardborough—he’s Lord President of the Privy Council and quite the higher-up with the Tories. Someone by the name of Northcote, which I can only think must be one of the financial Northcotes. They’ve the Bank of Suffolk and half a dozen others. And he mentioned a Prendergast, who sounds like some sort of paper-pusher.”
The blood drained from Ellie’s face. “Henry Augustus Prendergast is the assistant to the director of the British Museum.”
“And of course, Lord Aldbury must be involved—Julian’s father. That’s the only way I could see any of that lot coming to rely on Julian to do their dirty work for them,” Constance deduced. “And then there is Lady Hastings. She’s related to half the ton and likely knows the dirty secrets of the rest of them.” She gave a little shudder. “You wouldn’t think a five foot tall woman in her seventies would be such a terror, but she’s nearly as bad as my Aai.”
“But what could they possibly want with the arcana?” Ellie demanded, her mind spinning.
“Back in British Honduras, Dawson made it sound like some grand battle of good versus evil,” Adam reminded her. “The good side being the oh-so-civilized British Empire and the bad side being—well, everybody else.”
Ellie was still reeling at the discovery that the mysterious forces she had been battling for the last several weeks had names and identities—faces that she had seen in the newspapers.
“So our enemies are… a social club?” she filled in awkwardly. “A social club of extremely influential people united by the notion that the world’s arcana should be secured for the use of the British Empire.”
“I hope you realize how dangerous that sounds,” Zeinab observed flatly, her frame taut with tension.
A chill crept up Ellie’s arms despite the warmth of the evening. “There would be no accountability,” she said carefully as she put it together. “It isn’t like a branch of the government, which might conceivably be called to turn out its pockets if there was a change of administration. They would be completely free to pursue the arcana however they liked, so long as they have enough influence to deter anyone from paying attention to any… inconvenient consequences of their efforts.”
“There will certainly be more than five of them,” Constance reasoned. “Those were the names Julian gave me, but anything this juicy and exclusive is sure to attract more interest. I shouldn’t be surprised to find out that half of the British ruling class is involved in some way or another, even if it is only by doing a little favor here or there. That is how things work among that lot, anyway—financiers, politicians, members of the nobility. It’s all just little favors, and only when you step back to look at it do you realize that those little favors are driving the entire empire.”
Neil paled. “But that’s… that’s absolutely terrifying!”
Ellie soaked up the significance of what Constance was describing… and quietly agreed.
Learning they were up against a single ruthless collector, however powerful, would have been one thing. Even a secret government agency devoted to rounding up the legendary artifacts of history would not have felt entirely insurmountable.
But an informal organization based on threads of obligation and influence woven throughout the highest fabric of British society… It would be hard enough to prove it even existed, never mind find an authority who could bring those involved to justice.
The authorities were likely all members.
It would be like battling a hydra—a slippery, ruthless beast that sprouted new heads everywhere you looked for it.
A great weight settled onto Ellie’s shoulders. How was one lady scholar, however principled and determined, possibly supposed to go up against something like that?
The thought threatened to pull her down into despair… until her gaze drifted over the people who were gathered around her on the rooftop.
There was fearless Constance and clever Sayyid. Zeinab the warrior, battling for justice under the shadow of her abaya. Ellie’s bewildered brother, who was slowly fighting his way into doing what was right even though it meant overthrowing everything he had thought he knew about the world.
And finally Adam Bates, strong and steady beside her—ready to go wherever she might lead him with complete and unflinching trust.
That was how, Ellie realized silently as a wave of warmth washed over her. She couldn’t possibly hope to thwart something like the Order of Albion on her own. She could only dare to do it with the most extraordinary band of allies at her side. With friends .
“As to the staff,” Zeinab calmly cut in as she poured herself a cup of sweet mint tea. “You needn’t worry about that anymore.”
“Why not?” Ellie pressed.
“Because it has already been disposed of.” Zeinab sipped her tea.
Adam cocked an eyebrow. Neil’s jaw dropped.
“But where have you put it?” Constance pressed.
“I gave it to Umm Waseem.”
They all stared at her with surprise—even Sayyid, who blinked down at his wife where she nestled at his side.
“None of these imperialists or their mercenaries ever saw her face,” Zeinab calmly continued. “They do not know her name. She is a smuggler from a family of smugglers—people who have been keeping secrets for generations. She can put the staff someplace where it will not be found until the time is right, however long that might take.” She shrugged. “It seemed the obvious solution.”
Ellie wondered whether she ought to be offended that Zeinab had decided the fate of an arcanum that each and every one of them had risked their lives for without so much as a word of consultation.
But she wasn’t. It seemed oddly right. Why shouldn’t Zeinab have decided? The artifact was Egyptian, after all—and Zeinab knew better than any of them how to hide things in plain sight.
“What if they come after us to get to her?” Neil suggested uneasily.
“What can you tell them?” Zeinab shot back. “That she is Umm Waseem?”
“It’s not a legal name,” Sayyid explained with a look at his wife that was both uncertain and admiring. “It just means Mother of Waseem. We call older women by the names of their sons. It is a mark of respect.”
“And there are thousands of Waseems in Egypt,” Zeinab finished pointedly. “We may tell them everything we know of her. Even I may do so—because it isn’t very much. When Umm Waseem wants to disappear, she disappears. Nobody will be able to track her down if she doesn’t wish them to.”
Ellie thought of the old woman with eyes like glinting blades and her ubiquitous sack of explosives—and found that she did not doubt Zeinab’s words one bit.
She cast a significant look at Adam. “So we would be able to tell Jacobs truthfully that we have no idea where Umm Waseem is.”
“And he’ll know that means harassing us for more information is a dead end,” Adam filled in.
He didn’t have to explain any further. They both knew perfectly well how capable Jacobs was of recognizing the truth.
“What if he just wants revenge?” Neil pressed nervously.
Adam shook his head. “I don’t think that’s his style. Don’t get me wrong—he’s a nasty piece of work. But he’s not one of those guys who hurts people for the fun of it. It’s just business for him.”
Ellie uncomfortably considered how awful Jacobs’ notion of just business was… and then found herself thinking of the bizarre revelations exposed by their encounter with him on the ridge.
What is it that you truly want?
Justice.
Justice that somehow—in some way—Ellie and Adam must be meant to play a part in.
It had stayed Jacobs’ hand when he might otherwise have easily—and happily—killed them both. And yet, Ellie wasn’t sure whether she ought to find that a relief… or an even more frightening prospect than being at the wrong end of Jacobs’ gun.
His final words at the wadi drifted through her mind, sparking a chill that defied the warm air of the Egyptian night.
Till next time.
“Of course, there is also the little issue that both Mr. Al-Ahmed and Dr. Fairfax have most certainly lost their jobs,” Constance helpfully pointed out, interrupting the dark turn of Ellie’s thoughts.
Neil groaned at the reminder, dropping his face into his hands. “I highly doubt I’ll be getting a reference,” he muttered, his voice muffled by his palms.
“I would suspect not,” Ellie agreed sympathetically. She looked at Sayyid. “I imagine you have quite enough experience and contacts to get other work without Mr. Forster-Mowbray’s help.”
“I… do.” Sayyid sounded oddly unenthusiastic about the prospect.
Neil raised his head. “Or you could finish your father’s book,” he blurted out quickly.
Zeinab slowly set down her tea. Constance’s eyebrows arched with surprise.
Sayyid frowned.
“The Egyptian lexicon,” Neil elaborated. “You could do it brilliantly—you know more about the language than anyone I have ever met, and that includes the entire Cambridge History Department. If you translated what your father had already written into English and filled in whatever was missing, I know more than one publisher who would jump at the chance to get their hands on a work like that. And if you were recognized as the world’s preeminent expert on the reconstructed pronunciation of Middle and Late Egyptian…” Neil’s expression firmed as he put a bit more steel into his tone. “Well, it would be a little harder for the Antiquities Service to justify turning down any application you might make for an excavation of your own.”
Sayyid looked torn, hope and a tired skepticism warring on his features.
“Who would fund a dig run by an Egyptian?” he pushed back in tones as careful as glass.
“Aai would,” Constance replied, plucking another date from the bowl.
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
“But the expense…” Sayyid protested.
“She has thrown parties that would cost more than you do,” Constance assured him. “And she has always had an interest in history.” She frowned. “Among other things.”
Like blackmail, espionage, and intimidation, Ellie thought quietly.
“I think it is worth considering,” Zeinab declared.
Sayyid straightened. “You do?”
“At least until we have managed to overthrow the British oppressors and reclaim Egypt’s heritage for Egyptians,” she added in smoothly dangerous tones.
“I think we can all agree that is the ideal outcome,” Ellie offered stoutly.
Adam smirked with pride.
Constance turned a curious gaze on Zeinab. “Is your revolutionary cell taking on any new members?”
“Not at the moment,” Zeinab returned dryly.
Neil stared at Constance with a look of horrified admiration.
“Well, then.” Constance brushed the date crumbs from her hands. “I suppose that settles things.”
“Not entirely,” cut in a crisp, authoritative voice from behind her.
Ellie whirled to see Kumari Padma standing at the top of the stairs, clad in a luxurious sari of richly patterned silk in hues of pink and green. Mr. Mahjoud stood at her back, giving them a quietly exasperated look that made Ellie wonder just how long he had been listening.
“There is still the matter of a few little favors you owe me.” Padma’s gaze shifted meaningfully from Ellie and Adam to Constance and Neil. “Perhaps now would be an appropriate time to discuss them?”
It was not really a question.
“Of course, Aai.” Constance swallowed thickly as she looked nervously to the rest of them. “We would be happy to.”