“You must know that Sir Evelyn could have been working with Lourdes and her lover all along,” Whit snarled. “Mr. Fincastle would have needed the manpower to overtake the excavation site!”
“The site not reported to the antiquities department?” Monsieur Maspero countered. “Come, come. This all ended for the best, I think. The artifacts are where they ought to be—in proper hands—and you’re fortunate that Lourdes has taken full responsibility for the theft.”
“What?” Ricardo asked.
Monsieur Maspero nodded. “She confessed it was her idea for the lack of transparency on where the team decided to dig. She insisted I release you and your associate.” He splayed his hands. “And so I did, and now I have come to issue an apology for your arrest.”
My uncle snapped his mouth shut.
“And for how they were treated?” Farida asked in a steely voice.
“Oui, ah, an unfortunate accident,” Monsieur Maspero muttered. “I will endeavor to look into the matter and conduct a full investigation.”
“There’s no need,” Abdullah said in a silky voice. “Perhaps a firman to excavate wherever we’d like next season?”
Monsieur Maspero’s lips twitched. “I believe that might be possible.” Then he pushed back his chair and stood. “Thank you for giving me a moment of your time during your dinner party. Out of curiosity, what is the occasion?”
“It is a farewell dinner,” Tía Lourdes said. “We depart for Argentina tomorrow morning.”
“Ah, then bon voyage,” Monsieur Maspero said, and then he turned to look at me. “Egypt will be losing quite a jewel, mademoiselle. I hope that you will return one day?”
“Oh, I’m not leaving,” I said cheerfully.
Whit made a circle with his thumb against my thigh. “We’re staying in Egypt to work alongside Ricardo and Abdullah.” He shot me a fond look, and I leaned my head against his shoulder.
“I’ll be paying you a visit after our honeymoon to secure next year’s firman,” I said. “I believe we have our sights set on the pyramids.”
Monsieur Maspero blanched, and I laughed in his face.
WHIT
Early morning light shone onto the surface of my worktable. Outside one of the many windows of my laboratory, the Nile River stretched for miles, feluccas and dahabeeyahs bobbing in its waters. Dimly, I heard Inez outside in the garden, calling for our recalcitrant cats, Archimedes and Memphis. Theyhatedbeing told what to do.
Exactly like my wife.
I forced myself to pay attention to Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia as I stared at the Ouroboros, the snake continuously consuming and regenerating itself. Next to the sheet were stacks of chemistry books and older texts from alchemists who lived before me, attempting to achieve the impossible.
But that was the magic of alchemy. The transforming of one thing into another.
Copper into silver.
Lead into gold.
But right then, I was practicing the basic principles of alchemy on a common herb. I recited the three philosophical essentials to myself under my breath.
Sulfur (oil). Mercury (liquor). Salt (alkali).
Also known by what they represent: Sulfur, the soul. Mercury, the spirit. Salt, the body.
I swept the basil Inez had harvested from our garden earlier in the morning into a shallow dish, clearing up the area to complete the three main steps. First, separate, then purify, and finally combine these essentials to create a new harmonic substance.
If done right, I could apply this process to lead and, theoretically, create gold.
I stared at the flask where I had placed a handful of finely chopped fresh basil with half a cup of water to make a paste. Carefully, I added steam, watching as the scalding vapors rose into the condenser. A layer of oil formed on the surface of the water, the material principle of sulfur, otherwise known as the soul of the plant.
First separation done.
Now the plant had to ferment, which would take several long hours. Inez’s laugh drifted into the room from the open window. She was still out in the garden, trying to find the damned cats. I smiled to myself as I left my makeshift lab.
