Page 116

Ellie stepped fromthe train into the smoldering heat of late afternoon that hovered over the dusty platform at Al Mutiah, just south of the broken line at Asyut. She had to fight her way through a crowd of farmers carrying chickens and wealthy travelers frantically organizing mountains of baggage. Piles of freight—most of it bales of raw cotton—were stacked in towers around the station as those charged with their transport wrangled loudly with the drivers of donkey carts and wagons.

The sight of all those stranded travelers made her worry about just how they were going to get to Tell al-Amarna in time to stop Julian Forster-Mowbray from finding Neferneferuaten’s tomb. If the train line was out, and they could not hope to catch up to him by boat—what other option remained to them?

She supposed she would find out once they made their way through the packed chaos of the platform. The disruption to Egypt’s major railway had clearly wreaked havoc—as Ellie suspected it had been meant to.

The thought made her take a closer look at the sturdy, black-cloaked figure of Umm Waseem, whom Jemmahor had described as Zeinab’s ‘munitions expert.’ The squat older woman wore her black abaya and headcloth, blending in with dozens of other sun-weathered farmer’s wives crowding the platform.

Ellie wondered just how much Umm Waseem knew about the use of incendiary materials. The thought was desperately intriguing—though as the old smuggler didn’t speak any English, Ellie would require the cooperation of a translator if she was to pick her brain for any useful tips.

Not that she planned on blowing anything up. Her questions would be prompted purely by scholarly interest.

If Ellie did happen to spot an appropriate situation for the use of a small detonation, she wondered if she would need to inform Adam before setting it off. Back in British Honduras, she had technically promised to check with him before exploding anything. That had been weeks ago, but strictly speaking, he had not yet released her from the commitment.

Umm Waseem was carrying her black canvas satchel slung across her back. Ellie gave it a surreptitious study, trying to determine whether there might be anything explosive inside. She wondered how heavy such things were. Her only previous contact with dynamite had been Padre Kuyoc’s breastplate back in British Honduras. As she recalled, the garment had been rather hefty.

Umm Waseem didn’t seem to struggle under her burden—which could mean the bag held nothing more than some spare clothes and a toothbrush. Ellie knew she would have relished having those items along for herself.

“Want me to carry that for you?” Adam offered.

Umm Waseem snorted in lieu of reply, otherwise ignoring him. Ellie tried to determine whether that indicated the presence of TNT or extra stockings. She couldn’t be sure.

“This way,” Zeinab ordered, finding a gap in the crowd and leading them out into the relative quiet of the thoroughfare.

?

They took a ferry across the river to the eastern bank, where only a narrow band of fields lined the Nile before the ground rose steeply up to a scrubby desert plateau. Ellie began to weary as they hiked to the top—but after all, hunting for ancient clues, narrowly avoiding being murdered, and escaping with a band of revolutionaries did tend to wear one out.

She stepped off the path into a sprawling wilderness. Nearer to hand, little shrubs and wind-blasted trees clung to the stony ground, but beyond them lay open desert interrupted only by a distant, hazy range of mountains tinted peach by the setting sun.

Zeinab led them along a dusty track. Around a bend lay a cluster of low, broad tents of black wool secured by well-tied ropes. They glowed with the light of hanging lanterns and crackling cookfires. Fluffy white sheep grazed on tufts of desert grass nearby, looking plump and well-fed.

The still evening air resounded with the sound of barking, and a pack of long-legged, fawn-hued dogs came bounding toward them from the camp. Ellie stopped with an instinctive wariness at the sight of them.

“Don’t worry,” Adam said, coming to her side as he watched the animals approach.

“Don’t worry?” Ellie echoed skeptically.

Adam looked down at her. His eyes were bright. “Those are happy dogs.”

“They are?” Ellie frowned. “How on earth do you know that?”

“Just look at them,” he replied as though the answer were obvious.

Then the pack was upon them, and Adam stepped out to meet it. The dogs slammed into him—and immediately turned into a mess of wiggling tails and lapping tongues as the animals wrangled to get closest to him.

“Awww—who’s a good boy?” Adam cooed happily, reaching down to scratch every available ear. “You’re a good boy! And you are!”

Ellie watched with surprise, Sayyid hanging back at her side.

“Is he always this fond of dogs?” Sayyid asked.

“I’m not actually certain,” Ellie replied with a little jolt of surprise. “This is the first time I’ve actually seen him with any.”

Two of the dogs jumped up, knocking Adam back. He collapsed under a pile of them, roaring out a delighted laugh. “Ouch! Ow! Watch the ribs! Aww—come here, you!”

A few figures rose from the fire in front of the largest tent, looking toward Ellie’s party. They wore elegant quftans over their galabeyas, and their heads were draped with banded scarves instead of the usual turbans.

“Are those Bedouin?” Ellie asked with a spark of interest.