Page 20 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

20

Night air wafted in as Edmund swung open the front door and stood aside so Mr. Harrison could pass. It was a mild evening. The sweet scent of roses a perfume. The moonlight soft and inviting. A perfect time for lovers to stroll hand in hand.

And yet he’d been holed up in his study with Gil and the man who wished to purchase the Egyptian antiquities. Harrison was eager. He’d give him that. The man hadn’t been deterred one little bit by the lingering threat of influenza when he’d come to call earlier, though Edmund had made it clear there were several in the household yet abed. Apparently all the notes Gil had sent him about the cursed folklore behind the griffin had indeed lured him in. A tight grin stretched his lips. He had to hand it to Fletcher. The man knew how to reel in a buyer.

Edmund shook Harrison’s hand. “As I said, once Miss Dalton has a completed list, I shall forward it to you at once.”

“Very good.” He clapped his hat on tightly. “Good night, Mr. Price.”

“Good night, Mr. Harrison.”

Edmund closed the door, drained beyond reason. His very bones ached with fatigue as he bypassed the study and went straight to the sitting room, hoping to spy Ami. It was hard to pull her from her work, harder still to have to tell her of Harrison’s increased interest in the relics, and yet he must. Judging by the way she’d stomped out of his study that morning, she wouldn’t like it.

Sure enough, she sat across the room, eyeing him from the sofa. “Mrs. Buckner said you wished to speak with me.”

“I do.” But first he detoured to the drink cart and poured them each a glass of water, omitting the lemon in hers. After handing her the refreshment, he sat next to her, thoroughly spent. “It’s been a long day.” He took a drink and side-eyed her. “How are you faring?”

“Better than you, I think.” She set her glass on the tea table without so much as a sip. “You didn’t sleep this afternoon, did you?”

Perceptive little sprite. He chugged the rest of his water and placed his glass next to hers. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Just as I suspected.” She reached for his hand, her touch gentle, her skin warm. “You’ve been through a lot.”

His gaze fixed on her small hand holding his. There was nothing sensual about the act. Just one friend seeking to comfort another. And yet it did strange things to his heart.

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m sorry I walked out in such a huff this morning.”

“Yes, well, you might do so again.”

“Why?” She pulled her hand away.

“I just saw Mr. Harrison to the door. He’s chomping at the bit for those antiquities. In fact, he’s doubled his offer. I told you Gil was a good businessman. So after all this, I’m afraid once you’ve finished cataloguing the relics, I’ll have no reason not to sell the lot to Mr. Harrison.”

She deflated against the cushion. “I suppose that is good for Sanjay and his family.”

He studied her. It wasn’t like her to give up so easily. “Indeed.”

“But what if”—she faced him, a mysterious glint in her eyes—“just imagine for a moment that there was a way to provide your friend the money he needs while at the same time get your cargo into the hands of the Egyptian people. Would you entertain such an offer if it could be arranged?”

“There is no other offer, though I suppose were one to present itself as you’ve described, we would both be satisfied, hmm?” Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help but smile at her girlish enthusiasm. “Though I must say with you here, now, I cannot imagine feeling any more content.”

A deep sigh expanded her chest. “Me too. And who knows? Perhaps just such an offer may come along. Miracles still happen, you know.”

“Of course they do. You’re here with me, after all.” He snagged the curl she’d tucked away and freed it to run wild, relishing the silky feel of her hair against his skin. “As you’ll note, Miss Woolsey fled at the slightest hint of danger, and yet here you are, despite accidents, illness, and all manner of unexplained phenomena.”

“I couldn’t very well leave you to fend for yourself.” She smirked. “What do you know of amulets and scarabs?”

The arch of her brow, the pink in her cheeks ... he could gaze at this woman forever and never tire of the sight. “What I know is that you are a very special lady.”

Her lips parted, yet no words came out. None needed to. He didn’t want flattery or platitudes. The genuine admiration in her eyes was enough. She was enough, eccentricities and all.

Somewhere in the distance a bell rang.

“Edmund?” Her name on his lips never ceased to thrill him.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“Answer what?”

Half a smile quirked her lips. “The door. Barnaby isn’t back on duty yet, and Mrs. Buckner is still short-staffed.”

The bell rang again, breaking the enchantment that’d so thoroughly gripped him.

“Oh, em ... yes.” He pointed a finger at her. “But don’t go anywhere. I’m hoping we can pick up where we’ve left off.”

Still tired yet also surprisingly refreshed, he strode to the front door.

And opened it to a complete stranger.

The man on the stoop stared at him with eyes so intense, Edmund got the distinct feeling the sum of his character was being categorized and filed away to be used against him at some point in the future. The stranger was a gaunt-faced fellow, more lines carved into his cheeks and brow than those on a carriage-route map. He held a battered valise in one hand, a faded hat in the other—or it might be a dead hedgehog, so limp did the worn thing hang in his grasp. A shock of grey hair stood out on all ends of the man’s head, as if the wiry bush wished to make a run from his scalp. Overall, the fellow would make a fantastic Dickens character.

Edmund angled his head. “Can I help you?”

“I should hope so.” The man sniffed. “Are you Mr. Price?”

“I am.” He nodded.

“Then it’s the other way around.” The man lifted his chin to an imperial tilt. “ I am the one who can help you .”

Leaning her head back against the sofa cushion, Ami closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. When Edmund looked at her, well ... even now it stole her breath. No man had ever taken such notice of her before, looked past her haphazard appearance to the true woman inside.

Footsteps drew closer, and she sat up, taking care to tuck her hair into place. Whoever had come to call surely didn’t need to witness her sprawled on the sofa like a loitering vagrant. Edmund strode in first, followed by her father.

Her—what?

She bolted to her feet. “Father?”

“Last time I checked I still was.” He set down his suitcase, balancing his favorite hat atop it.

Ami dashed over and grabbed his hands. Rising to her toes, she planted a light kiss on his cheek. As always, he stood as stiffly as the statue of Anubis. Oh, he loved her, as a father must, though even now she yearned for more overt expressions of his affection. Over the years she’d learned to accept his lack, cherishing even more the rare times he graced her with a thumb to her cheek when she’d delighted him with a scholarly discovery.

She pulled away, taking his familiar scent of resin and turpentine along with her. “I expected a telegram, not you in person. Your dig’s not over for three more weeks.”

“Just like your mother.” He clicked his tongue. “Always expecting me to keep a reliable schedule.”

She frowned. “While I am happy to see you, you should know there has been influenza in the house. Several staff members are still abed.”

“Pish!” He cut his hand through the air. “Just as I told your host over there”—he nodded toward Edmund—“I’ve recently come from a raging outbreak of malaria, and that didn’t stop me. Can’t imagine a silly little bout of coughing would slow me a whit.”

Edmund chuckled as he strolled to the drink cart. “You are as strong-willed as your daughter, sir. And yet I admit I am every bit as curious as she as to why you are here.”

“Great finds aren’t all buried beneath pyramids. I hear there is a particularly valuable relic beneath your roof, Mr. Price.”

She laid her fingers on his sleeve. “But, Father, I don’t know that for certain. I hate to think of you cutting short your expedition for nothing.”

“I didn’t train those instincts of yours to be wrong, Amisi.” He swept his hand toward the door. “Take me to the griffin in question.”

She looked to Edmund. “I, em, I don’t actually know where you’ve locked up the piece.”

He set down the decanter, her father’s request putting an end to his drink duty. “Follow me.”

He led them across the vast receiving hall. Behind him, her father frowned at her, his gait a bit off. “This is highly irregular, Amisi.” The words were low, for her ears alone. “As the resident scholar, you should have control of the artifacts at all times.”

The disappointment in his voice stung like a hornet. “I know, Father, but there’s been extenuating circumstances.”

“It had better be good.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

He eyed her as they swung into the corridor opposite that of the workroom. “Then what would you call it?”

Exactly. What ought she call the ill-fated occurrences that’d been happening ever since she’d set foot in Price House? Her father might believe in curses, but she surely didn’t. Even so, there was no solid explanation, so she pressed her lips flat.

And thankfully right at that moment, Edmund pushed open the door to his steward’s office. “In here.” He quickly lit the gas lamps as they entered.

She and her father took up a position at the corner of the big work desk while Edmund rounded it and fiddled with the brass lock on a black safe nearly the height of him. Moments later, he hefted out the golden griffin and set it atop the desk. Ami cringed that this precious piece must be locked away with gunpowder and birdshot, yet it was for the best to keep it safe.

“Well, well, well,” her father mumbled as he elbowed past Edmund and took the steward’s chair. Not sharing her qualms about fingering the object without gloves, he slowly turned the griffin in a full circle. “Light. I need better light.”

Edmund retrieved a matchbox from one of the desk drawers, then brought a flame to life, touching it to the wick of a large oil lamp on the desk. Once lit, he shoved the globe closer to her father.

“What do you think?” Ami prodded.

“Mmm.” He bent over the griffin, his ever-wild hair flopping onto his brow.

Edmund joined her side, whispering, “Is that a favorable sign?”

She shook her head. “Too early to tell.”

After a few more incoherent mumbles, her father shot out his hand, palm up, never once pulling his gaze from the artifact. “A vernier caliper and some hydrochloric acid are needed, Amisi.”

Ignoring Edmund’s curious gaze, she raced to the workroom and snatched up her travel kit. On the way back to the steward’s office, she rummaged for the requested items, so that by the time she returned to the desk, she could immediately set them both within her father’s reach.

His arm snaked out, retrieving the caliper, and for the next endless minutes, he lightly set the points of the tool in different positions.

Edmund peered at her. “What is he looking for?”

“Measuring the dimensions.” Wait a minute. Her father ought to have known she’d already have done so. She cocked her head at him. “I have taken stock of the measurements, Father. They match the griffin’s description perfectly.”

“Surely you should know I am not measuring the dimensions.” Censure tightened his voice, and for the first time since beholding the statue, he glanced up at her. “I am tracing the contours of the wings, the curve of the beak, the ridges on the body. Slight nuances in design elements equate to different periods. Have I taught you nothing, Amisi?”

Shame burned in her belly. Suddenly she was eight years old again, receiving an ear-blistering lecture about wrongly assuming the false water cobra in the aquarium was a harmless rainbow boa—and she’d nearly been struck when she’d reached in her hand. Her father was right. Had he not taught her anything? Would to God the floor could just open up and swallow her here and now.

She dipped her head. “Of course, Father. My error entirely.”

He went back to work.

Edmund stepped side to side with her, his tone thick with sympathy. “We are all wrong now and then.”

His defense warmed her as the minutes ticked on.

“Aha,” her father said at last. Setting down the caliper, he leaned back in his chair and untucked the hem of his shirt. Dust from his travels snowed off his shoulders as he ripped away a chunk of fabric, balled it up, then grabbed the acid bottle and dumped some of the liquid onto the wad.

“I have swabs, Father.” She reached for her bag. “All you need do is ask.”

He held up a finger. “It is unconventionality that yields the most extraordinary results.”

Tipping the griffin back several inches, he gently wiped a spot on the belly, which was odd. The solution would do nothing. She’d already validated it was made of gold.

Tossing the cloth aside, he then reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a brass-framed magnifying glass, the one and only tool he carried at all times. As he studied the small area he’d cleaned, a wide grin spread on his lips.

She and Edmund bent close.

“What is it?” she whispered.

Her father leaned back in his chair, pleasure radiating from his hazel eyes. “See for yourself.” He offered over the magnifier.

She snatched it in a heartbeat and rounded the desk, cracking her hip on the way but so be it. What had he found? Squinting one eye, she studied the griffin’s belly. Sure enough, in a patch hardly larger than her pinky fingernail, whatever had been painted to appear as gold in that tiny area had rubbed off—only to reveal more gold beneath.

And some very small hieroglyphics carved into the soft metal.

“Ka-ho-tep,” she interpreted. “Kahotep?” She snapped her gaze to her father. “‘The Ka is satisfied’?”

“Indeed.” He folded his hands across his belly.

Edmund flapped his hands on the desktop. “What does that mean?”

“Yes, Father, what does it mean? I’ve never heard that name in association with the golden griffin.”

Her father took the magnifier from her hands and cleaned the glass with his ripped shirttail. “Many years ago, I had the privilege of visiting a hidden temple dedicated to the sun god, Ra, where I discovered an ancient inscription on the underside of an altar. This carving connected the name Kahotep to an animal with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle.”

“A griffin.” She shook her head. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean the Golden Griffin of Amentuk.”

“True, yet remember, one should never jump to conclusions for or against a foregone conclusion.” He tucked away his magnifier and once again leaned back in his chair. “Now then, according to the inscription, Kahotep was an esteemed priest of Ra, known for his deep devotion and unparalleled knowledge of solar magic. Some say he communed with the sun god himself. There is a story that during a sacred ritual, he transformed into a griffin to fly nearer to his god.”

“I’m sorry”—Edmund shook his head—“but what has this to do with Amentuk?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Her father chuckled.

Ami hefted a sigh. How could she have been so wrong? Edmund would never respect her work now. She could hardly respect herself.

“So,” she drawled glumly, “this isn’t the golden griffin after all.”

Her father rapped the desk with his index finger, a habit he employed when annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Amisi. Of course it is.”

She blinked. “How do you know?”

“Amentuk was not merely a geographical location or a forgotten kingdom. It was the sacred ground where Kahotep performed his ritual. The hidden chamber in which this little beauty was kept was where the divine energies of Anubis and Ra converged—where the golden griffin was believed to have been created. This artifact is powerful beyond any of our imaginations.”

And there he went again, taking Egyptian religion much too far. She scowled. “Oh, Father, like Mother and Grandmother, you know I don’t believe in Egyptian magic. God alone is the all-powerful One.”

He wagged his finger. “Yet you cannot deny the very real powers of Pharoah’s magicians during Israel’s bondage.”

“Smoke and mirrors, Father.”

“Or demonically inspired acts,” Edmund added.

“Yes, well, whatever your beliefs, this is the true Golden Griffin of Amentuk.” He patted the little statue on the wings. “A cursed artifact if ever there was one.”