My wife’s plans would be the death of me.
I watched her sitting primly next to Isadora, her mind probably whirring with one reckless idea after another that would get her killed. I frowned, forcing myself to turn away, following after Farida as she snapped photographs of closed doors and different sections of the wall. Sometimes she gently tapped areas, and when she heard a particular sound, Farida smiled to herself before clicking the button on the side of her handheld camera.
“I’m going to explore upstairs,” I whispered as I brushed past her.
“I’ll be up shortly,” she replied, “as soon as I’ve taken enough down here.”
I nodded over my shoulder and climbed up the rest of the way. The third floor was somehow even worse than the other two. A layer of packed dust and grime coated the paneled floors, the rugs having been kicked aside at some point. The smell boasted of the dank and moist, and I winced as the potent stench worked its way up my nose. I moved silently, my boots hardly making a sound as I checked open rooms that were in the same dilapidated state as the rest of the house. One room was locked, and I raised my leg, preparing to kick the door in, but then I shook my head.
Too much noise. Farida and her magic camera could take care of this one.
The sound of the auctioneer calling out broke the quiet as I crept closer to an open space that looked down into the second floor’s proceedings. I walked the rectangular perimeter, taking care to keep to the shadows. From a certain angle, I could see Inez in her seat. She should never play poker. That girl wore everything on her face.
I pushed her far from my mind and focused on trying to find the rest of the relics. I was just about to leave the balcony area when a man approached Inez. She held her ground, but even from where I stood, I could see fear etched across her tightened brow. The knife tucked within my boot was in my hand in a matter of seconds, the handle digging in my palm. I approached the railing, readying to hurl it at the man should he even look at her wrong.
Lifting the knife, I exhaled slowly. My feet were already arranged in the exact position I’d need to generate enough force to send it flying into the man’s neck. Seconds ticked by.
He had no idea how close to the grave he was.
But then he gave Inez a paddle and a mask, and I relaxed marginally. It was only when he walked away that I tucked the weapon back inside my boot. My attention flickered to the stage where the item for sale rested on a platform. It looked like an expensive piece of jewelry, with a long golden chain, gemstones glimmering in the soft candlelight.
I was more interested in the employee who had brought the item onto the stage.
An idea took shape in my mind as I walked away from the railing. I found more stairs, and I descended quickly. This wing of the house was marginally louder—sounds of quiet conversation and people walking drifted in my direction as I made my way down a long corridor. Like the other wing, the hallway opened up to many more rooms, some doors left open, others closed. When I reached the end, I peered around the corner. Two men stood facing the other direction, talking in hushed tones. I crept closer.
The sound of the bidding began, not too far off. At a particularly loud interval, I raised my hands and shoved their heads together. Hard. They slumped to the floor, and I dragged their unconscious bodies into one of the empty rooms.
“What are you doing?” someone asked from somewhere behind me.
I tensed but walked out of the room, closing the door after me. A short man stood in one of the open doorways farther down, looking at me curiously. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding this room?” he asked in an English accent, jerking his chin behind him.
It was hard to check my amusement, but I managed. “I thought I heardsomething.” The short man took a step in my direction, but I held up my hand. “Only rats. I took care of them.”
He regarded me warily before shrugging, then he went back into the room, evidently dismissing me. I followed him inside and stopped short. Wooden crates, the majority of which were nailed shut, covered nearly every foot of floor space. Empty bottles of wine littered the surfaces, along with stacks of old newspapers. Presumably used for additional cushioning for the antiques.
The short man was still eyeing me suspiciously. He fidgeted and swallowed hard, eyes darting nervously toward the door. “I haven’t seen you before.”
Tension seeped into the room, and I got the distinct impression he was trying to catch me unawares. Any sudden movements on my part would alarm him, and we were too close to the auction. I couldn’t risk him yelling for help. My attention flickered back to the newspapers. Nonchalantly I pulled the top stack and pretended to read the front page.
“I was only just hired,” I said casually, thumbing through the pages ofThe Egyptian Gazette. I recognized this particular press. Every article was written in English and represented the interests of many European countries who invested in the archaeological pursuits of their countrymen or in the production of Egyptian cotton.
Whatever. I didn’t pick it up for reading.
“We have to work, you know,” he said, annoyed.
“Then tell me what to do,” I said, rolling the paper tightly at a diagonal until it narrowed into a sharp point.
The short man indicated to one crate stacked atop another. “This one’s next.”
He pried the lid off with a crowbar, and I drew closer, my pulse ticking hard, the rolled-up paper in my fist. I peered into the crate, aware of the anxious man standing on the other side, breathing heavily. Nestled inside the wrapping was a blue statue of an asp. For a moment, I was back underground, inside Cleopatra’s final resting place. Inez knelt in front of a row of figurines, her charcoal pencil clutched in one hand while the other gripped a journal. I’d seen this statue in the treasury; I was sure of it—sure, too, that Inez had drawn an illustration of it.
I lifted my eyes, only to meet my companion’s shrewd gaze and a dagger in his right hand.
“You’ve seen it before,” he accused. “Where are the other two men?”
“I told you,” I said calmly. “I took care of the rats.”
The man leapt around the crate, jabbing the knife. I blocked his movement, but the tip dragged along my arm, ripping my shirt. I glared down at the long scrape in annoyance.
