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Ellie studied the regular blocks of the altar. Neil did the same, running his fingers lightly and carefully over the stones to feel for anything his eyes might miss.

He shot an awkward and slightly guilty look over at her. “Peanut—all of that other business aside, there is… well, something else I really ought to tell you.”

Ellie only half heard him as she studied the stones on the east side of the altar, which would face the rising sun. “Oh?”

“You have to understand, your arrival in Mutnedjmet’s tomb took me entirely off guard,” Neil hurriedly explained. “And then all of a sudden, we were barreling into the burial chamber, which I’d expressly promised the Athenaeum I wouldn’t do, and it just seemed to me that I couldn’t possibly run off without… without trying insomeway to explain things…”

A cat jumped up onto the stones in front of her. Ellie startled at the sudden movement.

It was the sandy-hued stray. It laid down on the altar, flopped over, and stretched out, exposing its pale belly to the sunlight.

When Ellie did not immediately reach out to rub its tummy—knowing cats well enough to recognize she could well subject herself to a mauling if she tried—the cat rolled back over and settled in for a nap, blinking at her.

Something about the slab of limestone directly under the bored-looking animal caught Ellie’s eye.

“Am I mad,” she said, “or does this look like a hand?”

She set her finger delicately to the corner of the block, where a slight divot in the limestone appeared, on closer inspection, to take the shape of a cupped palm and gently curved fingers.

“I… what?” Neil leaned over the altar to give the spot a closer look. “I say—I believe it does!”

Ellie moved her finger along the surface of the altar around the cat, which remained entirely nonplussed. The limestone was washed with midday sunlight, which made it hard to pick out irregularities that might be more easily seen in the gentler wash of morning or dusk, but now that Ellie knew what she was looking for, more shapes leapt out at her.

“There’s another one!” she declared with a spark of excitement. Her finger moved left. “And a third!”

The little marks were very subtle. From a distance, they would seem like natural chips or faults in the limestone. It was only up close that one could make out the tiny curve of a thumb and the delicate lines that delineated fingers.

A tickling suspicion prodded at Ellie’s mind.

“Neil—remind me again how Akhenaten depicted the Aten,” she pressed without taking her eyes from the marks.

“As a sun disk surrounded by extended rays.” Neil’s voice was tight. “Each one ending in an upturned hand. There are—ah—ten of them here, by the way.”

His finger swept across the pale surface of the altar, and Ellie saw them—an array of tiny hands, spread out in a perfect arc.

Ellie grabbed the strap of Neil’s canteen where it crossed his chest. Catching the tin container, she splashed a little water into her cupped palm.

“That’s for drinking, not washing your hands!” Neil protested.

Ellie ignored him as she dipped a finger into the water and used it to draw across the stones, painting straight lines from each of the hands to where they met.

The spot was directly under the cat.

She picked the animal up and deposited it onto the ground as it made a halfhearted yowl of protest. Where it had been sitting, she used a little more water to draw the shape of a circle—of asun disk—and then pointed to it, raising her eyebrow at Neil and waiting.

“It’s… I mean, I suppose it could be…” Neil stammered, still clutching the canteen. “At least, one must admit the possibility that…”

“It’s the Aten,” Ellie concluded firmly.

The water-painted shape sat in the center of the slab one block back from the edge of the altar.

“But it’s just another piece of limestone,” Neil protested.

Ellie studied the block with a critical eye. “We won’t get that out on its own. We should take the block at the edge first and then work our way in.” She flapped an impatient hand at Neil. “I need something I can pry with.”

“Pry?!” Neil echoed.

Ellie glared at him. Neil gave in, patting his pockets wildly. “I have… a pen?” he offered weakly, pulling the writing implement from his jacket.