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“Me too,” I said, hope fluttering now in my chest. Perhaps she’d change her mind. There had to be another way to stop my uncle from—
“Remember, you only have until Navidad to save whatever we can. Have you been able to shrink any rolls of parchment?”
I nodded and then she kissed my cheek, returning the way she came, taking a narrow path that led somewhere past the temple.
Her words ought to have given me comfort. She didn’t want to disturb the tomb any more than I did. It ought to have helped, knowing we felt the same way, that we were on the same side. But as I watched her disappear into the darkness, I couldn’t help the nagging sense that I was making things far worse.
For all of us.
CAPÍTULO VEINTISÉIS
Two weeks went by and we still hadn’t opened the tomb. After another conversation at headquarters, Abdullah and Tío Ricardo both decided to record and draw everything prior to breaking the seal. The digging crew continued to work under Trajan’s Kiosk, slowly but surely moving underneath the Temple of Isis. There was a veritable labyrinth under our feet, and Whit was down there more often than not, helping to blow through each room. When he didn’t have a bag filled with gunpowder in his hands, he could be found standing near me in the antechamber, meticulously recording artifact after artifact in a thick leather-bound journal, not unlike the one I used for my sketches. He seemed as interested in the artifacts as Abdullah and my uncle, constantly looking through the room as if he searched for something in particular. If he did, he never told me what he hoped to find.
Even Isadora had been roped in to the tedious work, but she never complained of the monotony. Sometimes she was there before me, bent over a notebook and painstakingly taking note of every artifact in her section.
The days were long. Whit worked alongside me, but the moment he ducked out of the antechamber, I pulled out the kerchief and shrunk anything that shimmered or was made of gold.
This was, by far, the worst part of my day.
But every time Ricardo walked through the chambers, eyeing everything appreciatively, my guilt subsided. He picked up several pieces of jewelry, studded with precious gems, and my stomach would clench, wondering ifhe was setting a price. Thankfully, Abdullah caught him, and yelled at him for his foolishness.
Meal times were filled with lively conversation, Abdullah keeping us entertained with stories of his children and grandchildren. Afterward, my mother and I met on the riverbank, hidden behind tall papyrus plants. Over the course of two weeks, I’d managed to shrink close to two hundred artifacts. I tried to pick through items that weren’t recorded, or were easily overlooked due to their placement in the chamber or size.
But I worried all the same and I was unable to hide my unease from Mamá. I gave her the day’s stash, hating myself, and she caught my hand in hers.
“What is it?” she asked.
I forgot how easily she could read me.
“I just wish there was a better way,” I murmured. “Tío Ricardo is overseeing the recording of all the artifacts. Why would he do that if he was planning on stealing them?”
“Inez, consider this carefully,” she said. “Anything noted down could be scratched out, rewritten, or the page might even be torn out. Who keeps the records at the end of the day? Is it your uncle?”
I thought about the leather journal, often in the hands of Whit or Isadora. But when the day was finished, the book went to my uncle, and not Abdullah. Where it stayed until the next morning, when my uncle would return it to Whit for the day’s work. My uncle could easily tamper with the records—but wouldn’t Whit notice? Isadora seemed too observant not to notice any unusual changes.
Except… there were literallyhundredsof limestone statues and boats and pieces of jewelry. I wouldn’t notice if a few were erased or scratched out.
Mamá made a good point.
“My friend will be here tomorrow, Inez,” my mother whispered, squeezing my hand. “Are you ready to go?”
I shook my head. “I’ll pack tonight.”
By next morning, everything I owned was once again inside my bag. I looked around my narrow room, cataloguing the worn rug, the empty cratethat served as a nightstand, my thin bedroll. I’d spent nearly a month on this island, working along with the crew—if not one of them. I knew everyone by name.
And every day, it destroyed me that my uncle would betray them. I wanted to warn them, but as my mother had wisely pointed out: we didn’t know who we could trust. Some of the crew might be working for the same criminals as my uncle. Grave robbing was a centuries-old profession in Egypt.
I stepped out of my room, wearing my linen skirt and jacket, and while clean, it bore the story of the long hours I had spent underground. I approached the camp, rubbing my arms to fight against the chill. Whit saluted me by lifting his tin cup. I could smell his coffee from across the fire. I settled onto an available mat, aware of my uncle’s watchful gaze.
I gratefully accepted a mug filled with tea from Kareem. My mind refused to dwell on anything other than it being my last day on Philae.
Long-held emotions threatened to bubble to the surface. I lowered my gaze, careful to hide my watery eyes. I was relieved to leave behind my wretched uncle. Relieved, too, for the artifacts I was able to snatch under his nose. Monsieur Maspero would ensure they had a home in the new museum in Cairo. Then he’d send antiquities officers to Philae, which would further disrupt my uncle’s plans.
But a small and quieter part of me rebelled at the idea of leaving Whit.
For the hundredth time, I reminded myself that he was getting married. The wisest and least painful course was to move on. Nothing good could come from pining after someone unavailable.
Isadora came to sit next to me, dropping gracefully to her knees while balancing a mug filled with hot tea. She didn’t spill a single drop.
