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My uncle stood, swaying, and stumbled away. I heard his low roar but it wasn’t entirely made of fury. He sounded anguished. The urge to go to him overwhelmed me. He wouldn’t want my comfort, but I had to try. I prepared to stand but Whit flung out his arm, stopping me.

“Give him a minute.”

“But—”

My uncle kicked the sand. If he were a kettle, he’d be steaming. He wasn’t a flame, he was a blaze razing everything to the ground.

“Maybe more than one minute,” Abdullah said, his face turned away in my uncle’s direction. “Let him feel his anger. It doesn’t last long anyway. He’ll return when he’s ready.”

He came back after ten minutes, his color high, graying hair disorderly. I’d seen him tugging on it and I was worried he’d hurt himself. My uncle resumed his seat, breathing hard. Then he met my gaze squarely.

“She set out to ruin me,” he said in a barely controlled voice.

I nodded.

“Paint me as a thief. Amurderer.”

I nodded again.

“And you believed her,” he said.

“Ricardo,” Abdullah said sharply. “We need to focus on the lost artifacts.”

“They’re gone by now,” Tío Ricardo said bleakly. “There’s no getting them back. Lourdes is well on her way to Cairo, and from there she’ll hand the artifacts over to her lover. He’ll make sure they’re never seen again until the items come up for sale at Tradesman’s Gate.”

“And once they’re in the hands of collectors,” Abdullah said slowly, “in museums or with historians, someone will discern their origins. It will only be a matter of time before people discover who we’ve found.”

“But it will take days for Mamá to reach the city,” I argued. “We have time to catch up to her, we have time to involve the proper authorities. We have names, we have a location. We ought to pack up and go, right this minute.”

“We’re opening the tomb today,” Abdullah said. “We can’t leave Cleopatra unattended, and we’ve come too far to cover our tracks. Too many people come and go from Philae.”

My uncle visibly weighed the situation, clearly torn. I could tell he wanted to rush off and find my mother, and take back what was stolen, but Abdullah’s words made sense. I tried to catch his eye, but now he refused to look at me. Whatever ground I’d gained, I’d lost. His trust in me had been misplaced and the betrayal drew him away, creating distance.

There might have been a vast desert between us.

“I agree with you,” my uncle said at last.

“We open the tomb, and we record what we can,” Abdullah said.

“And then Whit and I will go and find out what I can about the lost artifacts,” Tío Ricardo said.

“Too much time will be lost,” I said. “Let’s go and—”

“We’re in this mess because of your foolishness,” my uncle snapped. “And there’s nowe. Once the tomb is opened, you’ll stay behind to complete the drawings.”

My temper flared. “Maybe if you had been honest from the start—”

Tío Ricardo glared, the muscles in his jaw ticking.

Whit tugged on the sleeve of my dress, wordlessly communicating for me to stop talking. Mamá was getting away because of me. I couldn’t sit and do nothing. I couldn’t draw. “Tío Ricardo, por favor—”

“Not another word,” Tío Ricardo said, jumping to his feet again. “I don’t have time to hear any more of your idiocy.”

Whit glared at my uncle. “It’s hermother.”

Tío Ricardo made a noise of disgust and stormed off. He hadn’t taken twenty steps before he was accosted by Mr. Fincastle and Isadora. They had huddled close by, watching our interaction with keen interest. My uncle gestured toward me and then walked out of sight. Isadora walked up to our little group as her father followed my uncle wherever he had gone. She wore a neat blue gown, her narrow waist cinched tight by wide ribbon. Her golden hair swung around her shoulders.

“Good morning.” She smiled. “I trust you all slept well?”