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Mamá cupped my cheek. “Be careful. Remember what I said—behave like a doting niece toward your uncle.”
Then she went up the bank and disappeared into the night.
The quiet of the antechamber pressed into me from all sides. Sweat gathered at the base of my neck as I drew one figurine after another, a parade of Egyptian gods and goddesses filling up my sketchbook. Abdullah or my uncle continually passed through, Whit on their heels, cataloguing every single item. It was tedious work.
It also prevented me from using my mother’s silk kerchief. I wiped my brow and threw a look over my shoulder. The three men were huddled by the entrance to the treasury, bent over the thick leather journal in Whit’s hands. They whispered among them, Abdullah gesturing wildly toward the artifacts.
Dread pooled deep in my belly.
A part of me hated the plan, but the other didn’t want my uncle to succeed. He had murdered my father, and he thought he’d gotten away with it. My eyes flickered to Abdullah.
And now he was going to betray his brother-in-law.
I inhaled and then slowly reached inside my bag propped up against my knee. No one was looking in my direction. I pulled out the kerchief, and dropped it into my lap. Then I scooted closer to the grouping of artifacts at eye level. Their hushed voices drifted as they walked into the treasury.
I exhaled and draped the square-shaped fabric over a statue of Anubis. There was a lightpoppingnoise and the kerchief fluttered to the ground. The statue had shrunk to the size of a small charm. I glanced over my shoulder again. They were still in the other room.
I did three more statues, one right after another. Carefully I tucked them into my bag, sweat gliding down my cheeks. I was at war with myself, hating the necessity of moving the art from its original resting place, but knowing my uncle would do far worse. At least these items would be safe from his grasp, and my mother would be proud of my efforts. My gaze flickered over the hundreds of glittering artifacts situated in every corner and surface of thechamber, until it snagged on a blue figurine of an asp, roughly the size of my palm. I peered closely at the intricate carving, recognizing the unique azure shade as ancient Egyptian faience.
Shakespeare came to mind as I studied the poisonous viper. “Come, thou mortal wretch / With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate / Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool / Be angry, and dispatch,” I murmured. Goosebumps marred my arms. According to legend and Roman historians, Cleopatra died by the bite of a snake. It seemed appropriate that such a figurine would be included in her burial chamber. Quickly, I drew the figurine into my sketch pad.
When I finished, I closed the book. My attention returned to the statuette and with measured care, I ran my index finger lightly over its head. Magic pulsed around me and I drew my hand away quickly.
Too late. The memory came unbidden, and I knew I’d found another object Cleopatra’s spell had touched. She stood hunched over, tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried out in horror, in pain.
In despair.
She sobbed as if someone had died.
Goosebumps flared up and down my arms. Was I witnessing the moment she learned of Antonius’s death? Cleopatra collapsed onto the ground and beat her chest.
The weight of her sorrow crushed me. I gasped, struggling to pull free, and a second later, I came back to myself. The quiet of the antechamber, the weight of my sketch pad on my lap. My fingers were stained, and my breath huffed out of me in sharp pants that tore at my lungs.
Without really thinking about it, I dropped the kerchief on top of the serpent, needing distance from it. I didn’t want to feel her pain again. It hurt like a knife to the gut.
“How’s the work coming along?”
A loud gasp escaped me, and my hand flew to my heart as if by its own accord. I looked up to find Whit towering above me, gently carrying a mountain of scrolls in a small wooden crate. His gaze flickered to the sketchbook in my lap, the kerchief spread on the ground before my bent knees.
“Has anyone ever told you that it’s abominably rude to sneak up on someone?”
He eyed me quizzically. “The military encouraged it.”
“Are we at war? I had no idea.”
“Britain is at war with everyone.” He started to walk away but paused. “Nice scarf.”
I swallowed painfully. “Gracias.”
Whit walked off, joining my uncle and Abdullah in the other chamber. My pulse jumped in my throat. Did he suspect? Would he remember that it had belonged to my mother? I shook my head, clearing my mind of suspicious thoughts. He wouldn’t have complimented it if he’d recognized it. I let out a slow exhale. Carefully, I plucked the kerchief off the shrunken asp and placed it within my bag. Then, I let my gaze rove over the hundreds of objects in the antechamber.
I had a lot of work to do.
That night, I handed twenty-nine priceless figurines to my mother. She took each one and wrapped it carefully in another scarf, and then placed the artifacts in her large leather bag.
I licked my dry lips. “There’s hundreds more. I barely made a dent.”
“Every little bit helps, Inez,” she murmured. “We’re doing the right thing.” She twisted her lips. “Even if it feels wrong. I’d much rather leave the historical objects where they are. I hate what I’ve asked you to do.”
