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Fourteen

Neil let Adam draghim along, his pace hurried by the sound of a terrifying croak from across the canal. He lagged back once Adam released him, less than enthusiastic about joining the party gathered in Sayyid’s office.

It felt as though someone had tossed him from the comfortable perch of his ordinary life into a dark and possibly bottomless rabbit hole. Only a few hours earlier, Neil had been happily translating curses in a properly documented tomb antechamber with Sayyid. Now he was hiding in a house he hadn’t known existed, worrying about the future of both his excavation and his employment, and all over a magical staff he was fairly certain he didn’t believe in.

The thought made him want to turn right around and march back out into the night… only he was feeling utterly wrung out, and a crocodile lurked outside. One that might even now be enjoying the supper he had left behind.

The thought made him want to cry.

He forced himself to keep going. After all, what was worse—pushing forward with the lunatic plan everyone had been cheerfully discussing earlier, or being left out of it entirely to wonder what sort of madness was going to be inflicted upon him next?

That, and there was the desperately intriguing matter of the Atenist ring.

Neil had been working on his theory about the connection between the Aten cult and the rise of monotheism among the Hebrews for nearly a decade. To have finally found a piece of concrete evidence for his hypothesis was earth-shattering. If there was a chance that the hieratic inscription in the jewelry box might shed more light on Moses’ true identity, he couldn’t possibly bring himself to miss it—even if he had to swallow his thoughts on the matter of magical staffs to do it.

He followed Bates into Sayyid’s office. The space was another unsettling revelation—a cozy nest with a cluttered desk and a comfortable armchair where Neil would have happily whiled away quiet hours of research. There were shelves stuffed with books. A thickly woven carpet with just the right amount of wear covered the floor. A few scattered artifacts—items from Sayyid’s father’s personal collection—punctuated the walls and cases.

Neil could vividly imagine Sayyid holed up in here after a long day at the excavation, consolidating his notes from the dig or picking away at a bit of his linguistic work.

At the sound of Neil’s footsteps in the doorway, Mrs. Al-Ahmed flashed him a distinctly disapproving look, making it abundantly clear who she blamed for both the unexpected interruption of her evening with her husband and the fact that he’d been possibly-perhaps shot at.

Ellie stood by the bookshelves, studying the titles on the spines. Adam joined her there, and the warm look she gave him as he arrived made Neil feel both guilty and utterly dismayed at the same time.

Constance perched on the edge of the desk, shamelessly spying over Sayyid’s notes. Neil was still reeling from the discovery that the exasperating little ball of energy once hell-bent on disturbing his study habits had turned into this creature of thick eyelashes and feminine curves.

Danger gnome,he thought to himself furiously. If he could keep reminding himself of how she used to play MacBeth in the attic—complete with weapons and screaming—perhaps it might keep him from thinking about what her legs looked like under that lawn dress… where she kept her knife hidden.

He suppressed the urge to groan.

“So what’s this inscription tell us about the Moseh from the ring?” Adam leaned against the built-in bookcase with a naturally leonine grace that Neil couldn’t have imitated if he tried.

“Nothing, as it happens,” Sayyid replied a little distractedly, rubbing at the thinning hair at the top of his head.

“Nothing?” Ellie echoed with obvious dismay.

“The inscription does not mentionMoseh,” Sayyid explained.

“Who does it mention?” Neil pressed, picking up on Sayyid’s suggestive tone.

Sayyid glanced significantly at Neil and recited his response from his sheet of notes. “That the true story be known of the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Living in Truth, Lord of the Two Lands, Lord of Crowns… The Most Beautiful of the Beautiful Ones of the Aten.”

Recognition burst to glorious life in Neil’s head at the sound of that final phrase.

The Most Beautiful of the Beautiful Ones of the Aten.

The words weren’t just another royal title. They were a name—one of the most intriguing names in Egyptian history.

“Neferneferuaten!” Neil blurted out.

Sayyid grinned back at him with boyish excitement. “Neferneferuaten,” he confirmed.

“Oh!” Ellie’s eyes widened with understanding.

“That’s…” Neil began, stammering with excitement. “Have you any notion… I mean, of course you do! But Sayyid… This is…”

“Utterly meaningless to the rest of us,” Constance filled in with a note of exasperation. “Really, you Egyptologists!”