I knew because I’d made sure to look.
So then how had he done it?
The answer would have to wait. I crept closer, running quietly, my knees bent, keeping as low to the ground as possible. My steps on the dirt path hardly made a sound as I drew near to the back of the carriage. The driver clicked his teeth, and as Sterling’s men climbed aboard the front to join the driver, the brougham lurched forward, and I lightly stepped onto the back bar, folded down the seat, and made myself comfortable.
We ambled through the city, navigating the streets with ease, crossing paths with travelers on foot, on donkeys, on horses. At last, we came to a nondescript section in Turkish Town, overlooking the eastern harbor. I took advantage of the road’s bumpy surface to hop off the seat. They continued on without me, but I followed at a distance, until they eventually stopped at a building that had a shop at the bottom floor and an apartment on the upper one. They all exited the transport quietly, Sterling’s guards looking up and down the street, before carting Lourdes’s belongings inside. I made sure none of them saw me as I drew closer, hiding in the alley directly opposite from Sterling’s headquarters. They were talking, and my ears strained to hear their conversation.
“Mr. Graves, I expected better from young Collins… Has he not…” Sterling said, the sea air snatching some of the words before I could hear them.
The man named Graves peered down the street, squinting. “Here he comes now.”
I crouched low to the ground, completely hidden in the shadows. A man drew near, shoulders hunched, cap sitting low on his head. He seemed to be dragging his feet, as if he already knew the outcome of the conversation he was about to have with his employer.
He didn’t see Graves pull out his revolver until the last second.
Shit.
“You led us to the wrong location,” Graves said in a mild tone. “If it weren’t for… we wouldn’t have found…”
The man held up his hands. They shook so violently, as if he stood on quicksand and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before the sandovertook him. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, eighteen at the most. “Honest mistake.”
Graves looked to Sterling, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
Sterling disappeared inside as the shot rent the air, cutting through the quiet night like the slash of a knife. Graves barked, “Throw him in the sea!” as the sound of surprised exclamations came from various directions. Windows were opened from neighboring buildings, and some people looked below at the scene. Many turned away, snapping the shutters closed. Given their reactions, Sterling having men murdered must have been a common occurrence.
The neighbors knew to stay out of his way.
My palm stung, and surprised, I glanced down to find that I had taken hold of a rock. Slowly, I set it onto the ground and wiped my sore hand on my trousers. I watched Graves orchestrate everyone’s departure. Some left on foot, others on horses. Only he and the carriage, the team of horses, and the driver remained.
Graves eyed the street, his gaze flickering from building to building. His attention fell on the alley where I crouched in the darkness.
I stayed absolutely still, my breaths steady and deep and silent. He couldn’t see me, but somehow it felt as if he were staring right at me. Then he turned, climbed inside the carriage, and gave the order to depart.
Still, I did not move, even as they turned off the street.
Finally, I slowly stood, my mind back on Sterling.
He was inside that building, probably not alone. I’d have to take care not to make a sound seeking entry. The exterior was exactly like the others, the upper level overhanging the narrow street, windows adorned with ornate casings and shutters. The stone blocks composing the walls would be easy to climb, with many footholds to gain purchase. Sterling had lit the lamp in one of the rooms, most likely his bedroom as he readied for sleep.
Briny sea air filled my lungs as I waited.
A half hour later, the windows went dark.
I found his office easily on the second floor, situated at the back of the house. Sterling’s snores drifting from the level below were loud enough to disguise any noise I made. I found a tray piled high with candlesticks and matches, and I lit one, my eyes adjusting to the light after a moment.
The room was a mess.
Stacks of books, bottles of liquor, maps. On his shelves were jars of various medicines and tinctures, shoe polish, what appeared to be different mustaches—long, short, in varying hair colors—several pairs of spectacles, bottles of tooth powder, boxes of matches, hats, empty vases, and jackets. Clearly, like Lourdes, he collected random objects that were magic touched. I peered around the room, gathering more information. Sterling wore cologne and liked his tea. Empty cups sat on nearly every available surface. He didn’t employ a maid. Curious.
He seemed to spend a lot of time in this room, reading, finishing getting ready for the day.
His men had dropped off the boxes filled with Lourdes’s things, and they were stacked high. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, exhaustion hitting me like a cannonball. I shoved it aside and got to work, hoping to find anything that was damning, anything I could leverage, anything that I could use to help Inez.
An hour passed, then two, the candle burning low, as I looked through every drawer, most of the boxes, and every sheet. I found nothing proving his criminal activities. He was a corrupt antiquities agent who had founded the most lucrative underground black market in Egypt. There had to besomethinghere. A drawing of the gate. Past invitations with the date and time stamped on the bottom. Receipts of payments he’d received with every one of his sales.
Everything seemed to be in here, except for what I wanted to find the most.
There were no stolen artifacts. No talismans, not one amulet. Not even the fake kinds one can buy at markets geared toward the tourists.
