“Lift your skirt higher and walk carefully. Nowgo.”
I let out a shaky breath and once again gathered the fabric. Fear worked itself under my skin, making my heart race. The rushing of the water roared in my ears. I swallowed hard and took the first step onto the path, keeping an eye on my father as he traversed the gloom.
We made our way silently. I gripped my skirt tightly, my palms beginning to sweat. The air tasted stale and wet, the sound of the hidden Nile a constant presence. Every now and then, we passed a large spout that shot water where it met with the sewer below. An eerie waterfall in the near dark.
“Remarkable,” Papá called backward. “This used to be Alexandria’s water supply, dating to the city’s founding. Of course, the water isn’t drinkable now, thanks to years of neglect. Can you picture Julius Caesar walking this same footpath?”
I peered up at the crumbled capitals above us. To my left, there were missing pillars, disrupting the grid. “Are these structures safe?”
“Doubtful,” Papá said. “I’d take care if I were you.”
I glared at his back before dropping my gaze to the path. I could not afford a misstep. Terror gripped me as I inched forward.
“Quicker now,” Mr. Graves intoned. “It’s not much farther.”
Another ten minutes, and Papá reached a section that had a long rope looping around it. He lowered the lantern for a closer look. A system of pulleys provided extra support and leverage. Papá had seemed dauntless, leading us deeper and deeper under the city of Alexandria. But now he stopped and turned to frown at Mr. Graves, who waited behind me.
“Surely there is a better option,” Papá hissed quietly.
“There is not,” Mr. Graves whispered in his gruff voice. “If you pull, there is an extra loop that serves as a kind of seat. It was the best we could come up with, given the time available.”
Papá’s lips thinned, but he bent and yanked on the rope, tugging until the extra loop came into view. The sound reverberated like thunder. My father slowed his movements and proceeded more quietly. He situated himself onto the makeshift seat, awkwardly pushing at his fake belly to give himself more room. Papá was not a young man, but his years in Egypt had kept him active and adept at handling the warmer climate.
Papá jumped off the ledge, and I let out a gasp. But the rope held as he swung in the air, anchored by the pulley. He tugged on the rope, one hand over the other, and slowly lowered himself. It took a long while, and my legs ached, tense from keeping balance on the narrow path.
“You’re next,” Mr. Graves said.
“May I have the lantern?” I asked.
“You may not,” he said. “Here comes the seat. Go on, now.”
I fought the whimper climbing up my throat, but I stepped forward, slowly, and crossed to the rope. I put my head and shoulders through the loop and tugged it down until it cupped my bottom. I shortened the loop, feeling it tighten. This was, by far, the scariest thing I would ever do. I was sure of it.
“Jump, Miss Olivera,” Mr. Graves said in a tone that brooked no argument.
My body quaked as I inched to the edge. I stood far enough from Mr.Graves, who held the only source of light, so that when I looked down, I saw nothing but pitch-black. I was going to step into utter darkness, suspended in the air by one measly rope.
“Do it,” he said, cocking the gun. “Silently.”
Whit’s face swept across my vision, and I pretended he waited for me at the bottom. I heard his warm voice when he had taken me into the cave to show me a secret painting on the wall, hidden for centuries. A Christmas present for me. He had kept me safe, with a firm grasp on the rope. I pictured him holding it now.
My imagination would not fail me.
I leapt off the path.
CAPÍTULO VEINTISÉIS
I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out. The rope tautened, snapping against the archway. I held on to the loop with both hands as if it were a swing. I leaned forward, balancing, and reached for the other rope, barely visible from the lantern’s light. Then I pulled, imitating my father’s hand-over-hand motions, and slowly lowered myself down, down, down. The light dimmed with every foot I descended.
By the time I made it to the second level, I could not see at all. I scraped past the footpath directly below the one I just jumped from and kept going. My hands were slick with sweat and the rope burned my palms, but I dared not let go.
More than anything, I wanted Whit to be at the bottom to catch me in case I fell.
I pushed myself to keep going. To breathe through my fear. I wanted this part over, and I never wanted to do it again, as long as I lived.
Hand over hand.
Foot by foot.
