“Of course not,” Isadora said.
I lifted my gaze, and it automatically went to Whit. He was looking at me, focused, intense, with an emotion swirling in the cool depths of his eyes. It might have been adoration. It might have been frustration. When it came to Whit, I never knew. He dropped his chin, averting his face from mine, attention back on the tray of food.
I stared at him for a moment longer before forcing myself back to the pages. There was work to be done.
“I confess it makes me nervous that Mr. Sterling just let us go,” Isadora said. “Do you think you could be wearing anything that might bring him here?”
Whit muttered his reply, but I barely caught it because I’d stumbled across something interesting. For some reason, Mamá had collected a variety of Alexandria maps featuring old street names, the eastern harbor, and especially a place called Pharos Island. They were all done by a Mahmoud el-Falaki. I squinted at one of the maps, trying to make out a peculiar shape drawn on the western side.
“He probably knows where we are staying,” Whit was saying next. “My sense is that he’s waiting for us to lead him right to Lourdes.”
My eye caught on something else when I flipped the sheet. It was another old map of Alexandria, and someone had marked, in pencil, the location of where the Great Library of Alexandria had once stood before it was ravaged by fire. But there were other curious markings in what looked to be Greek. Someone had also drawn a light sketch of a three-headed dog atop a side street, away from the city center. I frowned down at Cerberus, the guardian of the underworld, a memory niggling at the back of my mind. And then I remembered exactly where I’d last seen the creature: Mamá’s journal.
I went to my canvas bag and pulled out the sketch I’d copied from her journal while I was on the train. It seemed incredible there wouldn’t be a connection between the map of the city and my mother’s journal.
“Does anyone speak Greek?” I asked.
Both of them shook their heads as they continued their own searches. I flipped through the rest of the pages but found nothing else of note. I returned to the map depicting the three-headed dog. I didn’t know the street, but it was beyond the Arab wall, in an older part of Alexandria, situated in the field of ruins.
“I think I’ve found something,” Whit said suddenly, breaking the quiet. He held up a journal. “Your mother has drawn pictures of the lighthouse of Alexandria several times, with a particular focus on the base. Perhaps she believed there was something hidden there of note?”
My heart began to beat faster. “Is it on Pharos Island?”
Whit glanced down at the journal. “Yes, it is,” he confirmed after a moment.
“Is there anything written down?” Isadora asked. “Any clue?”
Whit scowled. “Yes, but it’s in Greek.”
My sister and I groaned.
“How many drawings of the lighthouse are there in that journal?”
Whit flipped through the pages. “Seven.”
That was substantial. “Perhaps Mamá and Mr. Fincastle have found something of note and are secretly excavating?” I asked. Another possibility occurred to me. “Do you think they might have found—”
Whit gave me a pointed look, and I fell silent. He had known what I was going to ask, and he clearly didn’t want me to mention the alchemical sheet in front of my sister. There was no reason to keep that information from her.
I opened my mouth but Whit spoke first.
“It makes no sense Lourdes and Fincastle would be excavating there,” Whit said. “The lighthouse was destroyed by several earthquakes. It’s mostly a pile of rubble, isn’t it?”
His words distracted me from my train of thought. “I believe tourists still visit. During my crossing of the Atlantic, several passengers told me of their plans to include the lighthouse in their itineraries.”
“Wasn’t it Herodotus who said the whole structure had fallen into the sea?” Isadora asked.
“Strabo, I think,” Whit said.
“And not all of it disappeared,” I said slowly. “Itdoesseem a peculiar place to excavate unless… some secret room has survived?” I thought about Tío Ricardo and Abdullah, how they were wasting away in a prison, surviving only by Kareem’s wily efforts in sneaking them food. I curled my hands into fists. I couldn’t wait for Mr. Sterling to come to us, nor could I hide in this room forever out of fear that he’d follow us. I had to do something to help get them out of prison. “I think we ought to go and explore the base of the lighthouse.”
Whit considered the idea. “The structure has been weakened by many natural disasters. The whole thing could come down over our heads.”
“Perhaps that’s part of the appeal,” I said. “No tourists will venture inside, which means no interruptions to their digging, no pesky government agents looking over their shoulder. Mamá and Fincastle could be working undisturbed even now… getting closer to discovering—”
“Fine,” Whit cut in. “Let’s go, then. We’ll go later tonight, after we all get a few hours of sleep.”
“I can’t just do nothing while my uncle and Abdullah rot in that cell,” I continued loudly.
