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“I lost mine back on theIsis.” Constance scowled. “I knew I should have equipped myself with more than two!”

“I only had the rifle,” Jemmahor said—glaring at the firearm in question, which was slung over the shoulder of the limping Al-Saboor.

“Ralph’s got mine,” Adam said darkly.

“Ralph?” Ellie echoed in confusion.

“You know—the one with the horsey teeth.” Adam nodded at an Al-Saboor giving orders to the workers.

Zeinab mumbled at them furiously from behind her gag, wiggling her fingers and jerking her head toward her back.

“Ostazah?” Jemmahor prompted, brow furrowing with confusion.

“Maybe a bug crawled into her galabeya,” Constance offered helpfully.

Zeinab rolled her eyes, knocking the heels of her shoes against the rocks in frustration as she made another frantic gesture with her head.

“It is not a bug!” Jemmahor realized excitedly. “She is telling us that they did not take her scalpels!”

“Mmmph!” Zeinab agreed.

“She keeps them in a roll tucked into her belt, under her abaya,” Jemmahor translated.

Constance looked sharply at their two guards. The pair were rolling more cigarettes.

She scooted behind Zeinab, pulling up the other woman’s cloak—no easy task with her hands bound behind her back, even if Zeinab did try to help her by bouncing on her rear and offering terse instructions through the gag—which nobody could make out.

Constance wriggled her hands under the folds of black fabric as the Al-Saboors, ten yards away, searched their pockets for a light.

“I have it!” she whispered triumphantly, tugging a slender leather bundle out from the back of Zeinab’s belt. “Now just hold still and I’ll—”

With her bound hands, Zeinab swatted Constance’s fingers away from the opened roll of medical instruments.

“Oh, very well!” Constance hissed back irritably, pushing her bound wrists at the midwife. “They are your scalpels, after all. But do it quickly!”

Zeinab gave Constance a withering look that clearly saidif I do it quickly, I might slice one of your fingers off.

She set to work, and a moment later, Constance’s ropes fell away. She shook out her arms with obvious relief, then hurriedly plucked the scalpel from Zeinab’s fingers and set to work on the other woman’s bindings. Zeinab whipped her hands free and immediately yanked down the gag, spitting violently onto the rocks.

The Al-Saboors had found a book of matches and were lighting their cigarettes. They stiffened, coming to sudden attention as Mr. Jacobs crawled out from the entrance to the tomb.

“Jacobs!” Ellie hissed in warning.

His head snapped in her direction.

She froze as she met his gaze, forcing herself not to look down the line at the other women. Even a glance in their direction might give Constance and Zeinab away.

Jacobs’ eyes narrowed. He crossed over to speak to the two smoking cousins, who looked less bored and more nervous now Jacobs was there.

Ellie risked a glance at her companions. Constance leaned innocently against the rocks with her hands behind her back, whistling a little. Zeinab glared mutinously out over the ridge with her gag back in place.

Ellie let out a slow, silent breath of relief—then spotted the edge of Zeinab’s scalpel roll peeking out from under the black fall of her abaya.

She looked quickly back to Jacobs, her pulse thudding at the thought that he might turn back to them and notice.

A flicker of movement from beyond the cluster of armed men caught her eye. It flashed from the top of the curved ridge that framed the bowl where they sat—little more than a quick wisp of blacker shadow against the star-speckled night sky.

Ellie wondered if she had imagined it… until Jacobs’ head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in on the place where the shadow had been.