As they had found in Rome and Athens, the message was carved deeper than the surrounding inscription. Darcy squinted at the ancient carving, as the Latin slowly became clear. “Redire ad fontem, ubi pharus olim naves domum duxit. Sub undis temporis, filia-urbs Alexandri tenet quod ignis non potuit vindicare. Ubi Ultimus Ptolomaeus flevit, scientia exspectat dignos quaeritores.”
Elizabeth wrote rapidly in her journal, her translation flowing with the fluency of her father’s excellent classical education: “Return to the source, where the lighthouse once guided ships home. Beneath the waves of time, the daughter-city of Alexander holds what fire could not claim. Where the last Ptolemy wept, knowledge waits for worthy seekers.”
“Alexandria,” Elizabeth whispered. “We have found it! The final clue points directly to Egypt.”
“More than that, my dear.” Her father’s arm rested onher shoulders. “Alexandria covers a vast area. Without this clue, we would be like all others who have searched and been disappointed. This final inscription is the key to locating the lost library inside the city.”
“What do you know of Alexandria, Papa?”
Tommy poked his chest with his thumb. “I kin tell you what it’s like. The port is old and huge. There be plenty of fancy villas along the coast with important people from faraway places like England and France living in ’em. There they speak as many languages in the markets as the folks here in Constantinople do. Ain’t a whole lot of people livin’ in those old buildings, and they’re sprawled all over. ’Tis dusty when the wind blows, and in a stiff breeze, you get a mouthful of sand if you ain’t careful.”
“Thank you.” Bennet bowed to the lad. “From what I have read, he is correct. Although the city was the center of international trade and a hub for political activity when it was established by Alexander the Great, it has declined tremendously over the centuries.”
“Should that not make it easier to find the library?” Mrs. Bell asked.
“One might think so.” Bennet cupped his chin. “However, when the library was hidden, the configuration of the city was much different from what we will find. We will need to keep that in mind.”
He made direct eye contact with each of the others before saying, “After months of following Professor Drye’s initial clue, after facing dangers and solving puzzles across the length of the Mediterranean?a place I had only ever dreamed of seeing?we are only one step from the end of thistreasure hunt.” Wiping moisture from the corner of his eye, he added, “I wish he were here.” He removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses. “Professor Drye would have enjoyed every minute of this expedition.”
“Indeed,” Darcy agreed.
“The lighthouse,” Bennet said with scholarly satisfaction. “The great Pharos of Alexandria, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Andwhere the last Ptolemy weptmust refer to the final days of Cleopatra’s reign, when the Roman conquest ended the Ptolemaic dynasty.”
“Beneath the waves of time,” Richard mused. “Could this refer to parts of ancient Alexandria that have fallen into the sea due to earthquakes and erosion?”
“We shall soon discover.” Darcy read the inscription one final time to ensure the accuracy of his translation. “Our destination is clear. It seems that our goal may be within reach.”
An anticipatory glow settled over the small party as they made their way back through Constantinople’s winding streets toward the harbor. The prospect of scholarly triumph did not overshadow the personal happiness that buoyed Darcy’s steps. Elizabeth walked beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his as they navigated the crowded streets. Each casual contact sent lightning through his entire being.
What he felt for Elizabeth was unlike any other emotion he had experienced in his twenty-eight years. It was stronger and more permanent than the Colosseum, the Parthenon, the Hagia Sophia, and the pyramids of Egypt together.
Upon consultation with Captain Morrison,they found nothing could hurry the offloading and loading of theMary Catherine.Thus, the group would make the most of their time in Constantinople. While Richard took Tommy to the Hippodrome in hopes of seeing chariots racing, Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell went back to the Grand Bazaar, accompanied by Darcy and her father.
Near the spice vendors, a young Turkish girl of about Lydia’s age sat on a small carpet, sketching. Her drawing materials were spread about her in the same way Mario’s had been in Italy. She was capturing the bustling energy of the market with graceful movements. Her companion, an older woman with deep-seated wariness toward foreign visitors, hovered nearby protectively.
“Pardon me,” Elizabeth approached with a determined air. “Your drawings are beautiful. Might we…that is, could you refer us to someone with equal skill that we might commission for my travel journal?”
The girl looked up, instinctively moving to cover her sketches. “Your words are kind,” she replied hesitantly, her accent lending musical charm to the words. “My art is not worthy of such honor.”
Darcy stood a few steps away, close, whilst the delicate cultural negotiation unfolded.
Stepping around a pot of flowers, Elizabeth lost her balance. Fortunately, she caught herself, but in a charmingly nonsensical way that cracked the girl’s reserve. The young artist’s laughter joined Elizabeth’s, bubbling like water from a spring.
“I am Aylin.” She smiled shyly. When the introductionswere completed, the girl conferred with her companion, Fatma, in Turkish. Turning to Elizabeth, she said, “Perhaps I could introduce you to my art instructor. His young assistant might serve your needs.”
They followed Aylin and Fatma to a different part of the city, where they were introduced to Ali. He proved to be a man of considerable talent and graciousness, understanding immediately what the English visitors required and recommending his assistant with generous praise. Beyond that, he expressed pleasure with the cultural exchange their request represented. “Art speaks all languages,” he said in precise English. “When British visitors appreciate Ottoman beauty, when Ottoman artists record the English, this builds bridges between worlds.”
Darcy and Elizabeth concluded arrangements for the artistic work, and Aylin surprised them by offering additional assistance. “If you would like,” she said timidly, “I know the finest seamstress in all of Constantinople. The silk she works with defies description.”
Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell were joyous. After weeks of travelling in practical clothing, the prospect of commissioning a garment that was beautiful and exotic held considerable appeal. Their obvious eagerness left Darcy and Elizabeth’s father with little choice but to acquiesce, so Aylin and Fatma again led them down the foreign streets.
The seamstress’s workshop was everything their new friend had promised. Beautiful selections of cloth flowed like liquid beneath the owner’s skilled hands. After much deliberation and consultation, Elizabeth chose a cream silk, which appeared to glow with inner light, andanother in a deep sapphire blue that she hoped would make her appear positively regal. Prudence chose light green.
“Four days,” the seamstress announced through Aylin’s translation. “Four days to create gowns worthy of Ottoman princesses.”
On the following day,they explored some of Constantinople’s magnificent architecture. When they returned to the ship, they learned that a messenger had delivered a formal invitation from Aylin’s father.
“Osman Ahmetoglu requests the honor of our company for dinner this evening,” her father read from the elegantly scripted note. “He wishes to welcome the English visitors who have shown kindness to his daughter.”
