Nonna has always been well-connected, so the fact that one of her archaeological contacts knows someone who has a boat doesn’t surprise me a lick. In fact, I’m more than grateful for it. I only wish nonna had warned me that she made a contingency plan for this expedition.
Perhaps, once we get to Italy, I can convince their uncle to help me find my way home.Until then, I won’t be attempting to escape again.
“I’m sorry for running before,” I say softly. “I thought, if I could find my way off this damned continent, then I could make it home too without being followed. But I see now that’s no longer an option.”
“I’m sorry to say, it never was,” Bes argues, his words lacking bite.
I push away my growing anger and despondence. He helped save me back at the museum by killing Klaus, and he’s trying tosave me now. I should be grateful. But I saved him too, in the desert, and I won’t let him forget it.
“I know that now. I won’t be making the same mistake again.”
“At least your mistake didn’t cost you your life.” Bes steps onto the deck. “It was extremely difficult to get this boat here tonight; we’d best move on before we get caught.”
Cec has already veered off to the right, cane in hand, likely to feel his way around and get familiar with the vessel. Bes heads straight for the covered helm, busying himself with all sorts of levers and buttons while favoring his bad arm. Ailsa stands beside him, leaning in close and speaking in a low voice.
Stepping onto the deck myself, I watch him closely for a moment. He focuses intently on the task before him, taking control of the situation. A pattern I’ve taken note of. He could’ve let the retired curator drive us to the dock, but he didn’t; he could let Ailsa man the boat, considering she’s most likely the one who brought it here in the first place, but I doubt he will. Bes and I appear to have that in common, at least: wanting to be in control.
Perhaps that’s why I hate that I’ve disappointed him.
With the three of them busy, I take stock of the ship. The dark wood deck has weathered a few storms, but I don’t notice any major issues. Besides a few rusted metal gas cans, it’s shockingly empty. I’m not sure how many days we’re supposed to spend on the open sea, but I imagine we’ll need supplies. Of which I see none.
I glance back at the dock below. Despite the string of truly terrible luck I’ve had since coming here, leaving Egypt is bittersweet. What woman doesn’t dream of finding an ancient Egyptian tomb and unearthing a legendary pharaoh, or discovering a treasure room buried deep inside a pyramid?
While Ididmanage to find a hidden room, I immediately destroyed it and desecrated the celestial bones of the god of thedead. The lung-full of water that’s been sitting for years inside an ancient aquifer feels like penance enough.
That, and the attention of the German Third Reich.
Remorse niggles at my stomach from the thought of the ruined Osireion. Although it technically destroyed itself, it would’ve remained untouched if I hadn’t insisted on going after the Amulet of Amun. I should’ve known the ancients would boobytrap something so important—and magical, supposedly—and now any other artifacts down there might be lost forever.
Lamplight flickering from the cabin below grabs my attention. Bes peeks his head out from the threshold and waves me over, having already abandoned his post at the helm.
“Come on, Miss Hawkins.”
He disappears again, assuming I’ll follow. Utterly drained, I take my time crossing the threshold, slumping down the handful of steps to the lower deck. At the bottom, I’m greeted by a blood-red Persian rug marked with intricate gold filigree. A rather large bed hidden beneath an oversized duvet decorated in the same pattern pins it to the floor. I take a measured breath, and am greeted by a gentle whiff of cloves and cedar, nearly lost among the brine of the sea.
Bes brushes past me and climbs back up the stairs without another word. I swear I feel his eyes on me, but when I turn, he’s gone.
Alone at last.
Standing there, I flex both my hands. The arm grasping my suitcase trembles with the weight. I might have to find a way to fit my clothes in my pack for however long I’m stuck on the run. It’ll be more convenient, to be sure, but my back already aches at the thought.
Setting the suitcase down, I perch on the edge of the bed; it gives in easily to my weight.
I close my eyes and sigh happily at the thought of not having to find sleep on an airplane or in a car’s backseat or even tucked into a cargo ship’s steering, but on an actual bed. And a featherbed at that.Arturo must beverywell off.
I relax my shoulders and let my pack slide off onto the duvet. Pulling it into my lap, I empty it out completely. There’s a good chance I left something behind in the desert after Claude spilled half of the contents onto the sand. But it appears to be all there. I keep searching though, not knowing what I’m looking for until I find it: the slip of soaked paper where I wrote down the nonsensical riddle from the journal of the man who assisted Petrie and Caulfeild.
Unfolding it carefully, I read over the words which had seemed so indecipherable before, yet managed to catch my eye among his other ramblings. I recall how I memorized it in case I might need it. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t thought it important enough to read more than once, or if Nonna hadn’t considered the journal relevant to include in the research pile in the first place? I never would’ve been able to open the secret entrance to the Osireion in the Temple of Seti I, and then Claude would’ve killed me when he realized I was of no use to him—
I draw in a slow deliberate breath to quiet my tumultuous musings and soften the hard-beating of my heart. I can’t change the past. All I can do now is move forward. Focusing on what happened and what could’ve been will only leave me vulnerable.
The amulet that started this whole damn thing shifts when I release my held breath. I remove it from beneath my shirt and let it rest in the palm of my hand. It’s as gorgeous as I remember: the low lamplight highlights the gilded wings of the scarab, and the bloodstone appears to have small shards of blue in it.
Thisis what the Third Reich is after?
I turn the amulet over in my hand, squinting. If it truly can make its wearer invisible, what would Hitler actually use it for?I suppose one perfectly placed spy could either create or destroy an entire empire. And… could I use it to get home?
All of those theories would require believing in magic, and I simply cannot wrap my head around it. Everything I’ve ever encountered in this life has had a scientific, logical explanation. I don’t even believe God exists, for Christ’s—
