“I had a little meeting with the founder of Tradesman’s Gate,” I said nonchalantly. “It wasn’t pleasant, but it was certainly illuminating.”
Whit waited for me to explain myself, his shoulders tense. His voice was flat with barely controlled frustration. “Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head. “No—but he did reveal his identity.”
Whit arched a brow. “I don’t like the sound of that. Now you’re a liability.”
The man had made my skin crawl, and I shuddered. “It’s Basil Sterling,” I said. “We guessed as much, remember?” I held up my hand. “He gave me back the golden ring.”
Whit leaned forward and brushed his finger across the flat surface featuring Cleopatra’s cartouche. “I suppose he doesn’t need it anymore, now that she’s been found and her resting place pillaged.” A deep groove appeared between his brows as he studied me. “Strange that he’d give you something so valuable.”
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “He was trying to bribe me.”
“So he wants something, then.” Whit’s eyes flicked uneasily back to the ring. “Did he say what?”
“He wanted to know where my mother was,” I said. “And her lover. I told him I didn’t know where they were, and he seemed to believe me.”
Whit gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Really.”
“I told him the only reason we were there this morning was to try to find an address for Mamá.”
Whit rubbed his eyes. “Inez.”
“He thought the same thing I did,” I said defensively. “It occurred to him that if my mother dared to try to sell one of the artifacts she’d stolen from him, she might provide a forwarding address for the payment. That’s why he acknowledged it would be fake.”
“Probably so,” Whit agreed. “But Lourdes would never have given away the asp for free. Shewantsthe money.”
I blinked at him. “Iknowthat. What’s your point?”
He held up the scrap of paper. “I’m saying that this address might not lead directly toher, but the next one will. Because if I were her, whatever this address is, I guarantee she’s watching it. In no world would Lourdes lose track of the money. Somehow, she’s following its progress and waiting for it to go to its final destination.” He smiled tiredly. “I think we might have found a way to get to her, despite what Mr. Sterling believes.”
He handed the paper to me, and I read the scant few lines of his appalling scrawl.
I slowly looked up at him. “This address is in Alexandria.”
Whit nodded.
I recalled an earlier conversation with Isadora when she’d revealed how Mamá divided her time in Alexandria, London, and Argentina. She had a home in the former, so while this wasn’t surprising information—it was curious. “If your theory is correct, why send the money to Alexandria? Why put herself far away from every other ancient city of note? Cairo, Thebes, Aswan,” I said, listing each off with my fingers. “And isn’t Tradesman’s Gate typically held here?”
“She could be wanting to start an auction in Alexandria.”
“But then why try to sell the asp this morning?”
He considered, one leg bent at the knee, his foot propped on a higher step. “Suppose it was personal?” He must have read the confusion on my face because he pressed on. “Your mother betrayed Mr. Sterling—why? Lourdes might be motivated by the money, of course, but what if it ran deeper than that? What if she’s trying to run him out of business?”
“So she flaunts her victory under his nose by trying to sell the statuette,” I said, following his line of thought. “And she does need a method to sell off what she’s stolen. The gateisan established auction, with reputable buyers. Meanwhile, she’s moving the rest of the artifacts up north?”
“It’s possible,” Whit said slowly. “And if I were her, I’d want cash to start up a new enterprise that would directly compete with Tradesman’s Gate. She’d need to hire new employees, find a secure location to house all the artifacts, and locate a suitable place to host the first auction.”
“Well, she’s about to learn that the asp statuette earned her fifty thousand pounds. Whoever her emissary was, they’re bound to send a telegram to let her know.” I wrinkled my nose. “There’s still something I don’t understand.”
Whit waited, expectant.
“On Philae, she asked me about the Chrysopoeia of Cleopatra, and you’re also convinced she’s searching for it. If Mamá is intent on opening her own auction, does this mean she’s given up searching for the sheet?”
“Something tells me that if Basil Sterling is looking for it, then shewon’t stop looking for it. With the Chrysopoeia in her possession, she’ll have unlimited funds.”
“But only if she employs an alchemist,” I pointed out. “I can’t imagine there are many people living who practice that archaic profession.”
