“Well, well, well,” her father mumbled as he elbowed past Edmund and took the steward’s chair. Not sharing her qualms about fingering the object without gloves, he slowly turned the griffin in a full circle. “Light. I need better light.”
Edmund retrieved a matchbox from one of the desk drawers, then brought a flame to life, touching it to the wick of a large oil lamp on the desk. Once lit, he shoved the globe closer to her father.
“What do you think?” Ami prodded.
“Mmm.” He bent over the griffin, his ever-wild hair flopping onto his brow.
Edmund joined her side, whispering, “Is that a favorable sign?”
She shook her head. “Too early to tell.”
After a few more incoherent mumbles, her father shot out his hand, palm up, never once pulling his gaze from the artifact. “A vernier caliper and some hydrochloric acid are needed, Amisi.”
Ignoring Edmund’s curious gaze, she raced to the workroom and snatched up her travel kit. On the way back to the steward’s office, she rummaged for the requested items, so that by the time she returned to the desk, she could immediately set them both within her father’s reach.
His arm snaked out, retrieving the caliper, and for the next endless minutes, he lightly set the points of the tool in different positions.
Edmund peered at her. “What is he looking for?”
“Measuring the dimensions.” Wait a minute. Her father ought to have known she’d already have done so. She cocked her head at him. “I have taken stock of the measurements, Father. They match the griffin’s description perfectly.”
“Surely you should know I am not measuring the dimensions.” Censure tightened his voice, and for the first time since beholding the statue, he glanced up at her. “I am tracing the contours of the wings, the curve of the beak, the ridges on the body. Slight nuances in design elements equate to different periods. Have I taught you nothing, Amisi?”
Shame burned in her belly. Suddenly she was eight years old again, receiving an ear-blistering lecture about wrongly assuming the false water cobra in the aquarium was a harmless rainbow boa—and she’d nearly been struck when she’d reached in her hand. Her father was right. Had he not taught her anything? Would to God the floor could just open up and swallow her here and now.
She dipped her head. “Of course, Father. My error entirely.”
He went back to work.
Edmund stepped side to side with her, his tone thick with sympathy. “We are all wrong now and then.”
His defense warmed her as the minutes ticked on.
“Aha,” her father said at last. Setting down the caliper, heleaned back in his chair and untucked the hem of his shirt. Dust from his travels snowed off his shoulders as he ripped away a chunk of fabric, balled it up, then grabbed the acid bottle and dumped some of the liquid onto the wad.
“I have swabs, Father.” She reached for her bag. “All you need do is ask.”
He held up a finger. “It is unconventionality that yields the most extraordinary results.”
Tipping the griffin back several inches, he gently wiped a spot on the belly, which was odd. The solution would do nothing. She’d already validated it was made of gold.
Tossing the cloth aside, he then reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a brass-framed magnifying glass, the one and only tool he carried at all times. As he studied the small area he’d cleaned, a wide grin spread on his lips.
She and Edmund bent close.
“What is it?” she whispered.
Her father leaned back in his chair, pleasure radiating from his hazel eyes. “See for yourself.” He offered over the magnifier.
She snatched it in a heartbeat and rounded the desk, cracking her hip on the way but so be it. What had he found? Squinting one eye, she studied the griffin’s belly. Sure enough, in a patch hardly larger than her pinky fingernail, whatever had been painted to appear as gold in that tiny area had rubbed off—only to reveal more gold beneath.
And some very small hieroglyphics carved into the soft metal.
“Ka-ho-tep,” she interpreted. “Kahotep?” She snapped her gaze to her father. “‘The Ka is satisfied’?”
“Indeed.” He folded his hands across his belly.
Edmund flapped his hands on the desktop. “What does that mean?”
