Page 52

The man shrugged, his utensils scraping loudly against his plate. The motion made a horrific screech and Mr. Hayes winced as he filled his cup with whiskey from his ever-present flask. I wanted to fill his plate with bread to soak up the liquor sloshing around inside his body.

“That chamber might yield another entryway that is as yet undiscovered,” Tío Ricardo said. “But I did tell you, Whit, that we ought to have left days earlier. We might even now be uncovering ground.”

“It wasn’t possible,” Mr. Hayes said mildly. “And you arranged the dinner with Sir Evelyn and Maspero yourself. You can’t afford not to line up a license for next season, Ricardo. Think what Abdullah will say if you fail.”

My uncle sobered.

“Just to clarify,” the brawny British man said, “youdidn’thave an argument with Maspero and Sir Evelyn? Becausemycontract was for the rest of this season and the next.”

I looked sharply at the man, whose rigid movements hadn’t eased with the progression of the dinner. He glanced pointedly at one of the saloon walls where a long line of rifles were kept. I could almost picture the heavy weight of the weapon in that man’s hands. A cold shiver danced down my spine. Mr. Hayes eyed the man with a carefully neutral expression. His behavior was remarkably different than what I’d seen up until now. He didn’t acknowledge the girl sitting next to him in the slightest. Not even to ask her for salt. He simply leaned forward and reached across her as if she weren’t sitting there.

“Of course he did,” Mr. Hayes muttered, sprinkling the salt over his plate. “Ricardo can’t help it.”

“That conversation was well worth it and you know it,” Tío Ricardo said. “There’s only so much nonsense I can stomach.”

“How, sir?” asked the brawny gentleman. “Not that one, Isadora, it’s much too spicy for you.”

The girl glanced up, her mouth set in an intractable line. She applied a liberal amount of the red spice over her food. She ate the first bite calmly while the man sighed loudly. I hid my smile. Perhaps there was more to her than I originally thought.

“I’m afraid her mother gives her too much free rein,” the brawny man said, as if his daughter sat not two feet away from him. Isadora’s light eyes tightened but then her expression smoothed out into one of bland neutrality. I sympathized with her immediately.

My uncle turned his attention back to the brawny man. “To answer your question, I confirmed that neither Monsieur Maspero nor Sir Evelyn know what the hell we’re doing here.”

“God help us all if they ever do,” Mr. Hayes said.

“Which is why you’ve hiredme,” the large man said.

Mr. Hayes scrutinized the British man. Suspicion was etched into every line of Mr. Hayes’s body, from his tense shoulders to the fingers that gripped his fork and knife.

My gaze flickered to my uncle.

He looked just as uneasy as Mr. Hayes, but instead of vocalizing any concern, he said, “I hope we never have to use your services, Mr. Fincastle.”

“Here, here,” Mr. Hayes said dryly.

“A shame I had to hire you at all,” my uncle commented.

“Do you mean because of your lost patrons?”

“Yes, their deaths were a tremendous blow.”

“Well, not all is lost,” Mr. Fincastle said. “You’ve certainly become a wealthy man.” He flicked his fork around, gesturing to the dahabeeyah.

“That was a vile observation,” my uncle said.

Mr. Fincastle smiled coldly. “But true, regardless.”

My blood ran cold. Had my inheritance paid for all this? Another thought slammed into me.Patrons. My mind spun. They were talking about my parents—who had funded this entire enterprise. Dark spots swam at the corners of my vision. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? My knees shook and I used the wall to keep me upright.

Thanks to my parents’ deaths, my uncle had all the money in the world.

CAPÍTULO CATORCE

The next morning, the wind continued to push us upstream, much to the relief of the rowing crew. The sails billowed outward, resembling full bellies, propelling us past extraordinary monuments, golden in hue and half torn down. On either side of theElephantinethe sandbanks stretched at both ends, a never-ending scroll filled with picturesque scenes of ancient temples and fishermen sitting in their small boats, throwing out nets. Kareem named all the villages we passed.

Some were mud-walled, surrounded by marshes, and others appeared more stately with squat buildings overlooking the sharp green of the water. It spread like a vein to the rest of the land, and I understood why the river was revered in Egypt. It gave life and sustenance, it carried one to adventure and discovery, and it also brought you home. Kareem taught me the names of the gods associated with the Nile: Hapi, the god of flooding; Sobek, the god of the river crocodiles; Anuket, goddess of the Nile’s cataracts.

“You know a lot about ancient Egyptian religion,” I told him.