However, when I get to the page featuring Ramesses II, there are multiple translations of his name in several different cartouches. I grit my teeth.Damn the Egyptians and their complicated language.
I move the smaller disks into place to spell out his name for the first cartouche. Nothing. Then the second and the third. Still nothing.
Finally, I come to a cartouche labeled “Nomen Cartouche. Temple of Ramesses II, Abydos”.Of course!It has to be the cartouche discovered at the temple near his father’s, where he would’ve wanted to display the name he was given at birth.
I shift the disks again, my hands trembling now as half a dozen footfalls thunder behind me.
Bes nearly collapses onto my shoulder. “You didn’t think to wait?”
I move the second-to-last glyph into place. “Would you have?”
Cec practically giggles with anticipation. “She’s got you there.”
As I settle the last disk in place, the cypher gives a final resounding click, popping open slightly along the middle.
“Mary, mother of God,” I mutter.
Bes’s voice is full of awe. “You bloody did it.”
Cec finds my arm and pats it. “Well done, Hawkins.”
I wordlessly crack open the cypher.
Lined with unpolished gold, the inside contains an etching of one pharaoh holding out Osiris’sAtefcrown to another pharaoh.
“Seti is handing his duties over to Ramesses,” I murmur, brushing the etching with trembling fingertips. “Seti must’ve given this to him at his coronation.”
At the center of the cylinder, I find an aged papyrus scroll tied off with a knotted linen cord.
Wiping my sweaty hands on my pants, I pluck the scroll from the cypher, carefully undoing the knot. I’m surprised the three order onlookers are allowing me, an uninitiated commoner, to touch such a delicate piece of history. They must be just as mesmerized as I am.
I gently unroll the scroll onto the table. “It’s in Egyptian Hieratic.”
Damn. While hieroglyphs were mostly used for stone carvings, they utilized Hieratic for anything written on papyrus. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but it certainly complicates things.
Anders focuses on the parchment over my shoulder.
“I can read it.” He scours it for a moment, smiling slowly. “Put the amulet on and I’ll tell you what to say.”
Of course, Anders can read ancient EgyptianHieratic. Although, with their shared knowledge, I suppose all of the order can. I’ll admit, I’m a little jealous of that particular ability.
“Let’s see if this thing actually works,” I mutter.
I place the amulet over my head, allowing it to settle over my neck and atop my chest as I prepare myself for what might happen next. I don’t know what saying this phrase aloud will do, if anything at all. Now that I’m being given the opportunity, however, Ineedto know if nearly dying was worth it. If being chased across multiple continents by the God Men was worth it. If killing Claude and the Blackshirts in Messina and outside the club, thereby officially branding myself an executioner, was worth it.
Anders clears his throat. “Repeat after me: “Ii em hotep. Åmå ankh ek.”
“Here it goes.” I stare at the scarab grasped in my hand and repeat what Anders said, “Ii em hotep. Åmå ankh ek.”
With each word, the amulet begins to glow a soft golden color. I can’t look away from it. The blood moving beneath the surface, I could attribute to my eyes playing tricks on me. But this? How can I logically explain this?
I can’t.
The moment the last word leaves my mouth, Bes and Anders gasp.
I hold my hands up in front of my face but can’t actually see them. My hands, my arms, my legs,everythinghas disappeared. It worked! I hoped against hope that the amulet could do what so many claimed it could. For science, yes, but for my own curiosity. As selfish as it sounds,Iwanted to be the first to discover its true power. And yet, some part of me continued to think it a farce—a fairytale.
And now, now I know it’s real. That magic—goddamnmagic—isreal.
