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“Hold on,” Ellie said, straightening. “You aren’t even supposed to be here!”

“I am seeing you off,” Constance retorted breezily. “You never know if you might need someone to engage in physical combat with another dastardly fellow at the docks.”

Ellie pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting off a rising headache as reality settled in. “This is madness,” she declared.

“Why on earth would you say that?” Constance protested.

“I am throwing myself onto a steamer to British Honduras on less than ten minutes’ notice,” Ellie shot back, her tone rising. “I just raced a villain through the streets of Canonbury. I haven’t the foggiest notion where I’m going or what must be involved in getting there.”

She buried her face in her hands. It was becoming a bit harder to breathe.

“I should be doing so muchresearch…” she protested helplessly.

Constance grabbed Ellie’s hands.

“Eleanora, what is the hieroglyph for truth?” she demanded.

“A feather, or the image of the goddess Maat,” Ellie replied automatically.

“Who was the first emperor of China?”

“Qin Shi Huang.”

“List the ancient civilizations of Central America in chronological order.”

Ellie frowned. “If one includes southern portions of Mexico, we can establish a reliable timeline for the Aztecs, who were preceded by the Mayans to the south. Prior to that, there are still questions as to whether the Toltec or Olmec peoples were genuine or mythological. Of course, the dating methods are notoriously subjective, which makes establishing a clear chronology unreliable at—”

“I have made my point,” Constance said firmly. She leaned back, crossing her arms neatly over her chest.

“But there are still so many books I haven’t read!” Ellie fought back a flare of panic. “The research is terribly new. Why, just the other day, there was an article inThe Centuryon the excavation of a Post-Classical site in Honduras that I have barely had an opportunity to browse, never mind properly annotate…”

Constance was unmoved.

“You are getting on that boat,” she declared flatly. “You are going to the Caribbean. You will purchase your equipment with the pile of earnings from your dull job that you have never bothered to properly spend. You will hire a guide, find your city, and become the most famous archaeologist in the world.”

Ellie crossed her arms mulishly.

“I am not interested in becomingfamous,” she said tartly. “I would simply like to be permitted to use my skills and education to further our understanding of the ancient world.”

“So go do that, then.” Constance waved an airy hand. “I don’t even know why we’re arguing about it. It seems to me that your whole plan to keep your parents from being accosted by that thug relies upon your immediate escape to the colonies and prompt removal into the back country before he can track you down.”

“Yes,” Ellie agreed, feeling a bit dizzy. “Yes, it rather does. Oh, bother…” She lowered her head to her knees.

“Shoreditch High Street!” the conductor called from outside their compartment. “Next stop, Whitechapel. Change at Shadwell for the London & Blackwell Line.”

“That’s you,” Constance announced. “How long before we arrive at the docks and put you on that boat?”

“Approximately eighteen minutes,” Ellie replied unthinkingly.

“Well, then,” Constance returned cheerfully. “That should be plenty of time for you to get used to the idea.”

?

The West India Docks were loud and crowded. The narrow waterways were packed with ships. Steam stacks mingled with the tall skeletons of graceful sailboats. Passengers bumped against dockworkers as everyone hurried to load the boats scheduled to leave with the turning of the evening tide. Cranes hefted pallets of tea, oranges, and tobacco onto the wharfs as street vendors hawked whelks, mussels, peppered pies, and apple fritters.

Ellie sniffed at a baked potato cart as a line of dock workers trudged past carrying sides of frozen beef, wrapped in muslin, on their shoulders.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that it was nearly time for supper.