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The guards exchanged a look, and the one closest to Rhys, a thin man with a dark beard, placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Rhys forced his expression to remain calm.
“We’re looking for a man—an Englishman like yourself. What is your name?”
Rhys considered the men for half a beat before replying. “Levinge,” he said, with a silent apology to Helen’s sleeping apparatus inventor.
“Do you have papers?”
Rhys sucked his teeth and shook his head. “I was set upon by bandits outside Tanta. I’m afraid they made off with my papers.”
“Dismount, if you will,” the man said. At Rhys’s hesitation, his partner took a step forward, and the pair stood elbow to elbow. With an inhale, Rhys nodded and dismounted.
“What’s this English bloke done?” he asked conversationally.
“He’s suspected of smuggling artifacts.”
“Ah,” Rhys said. “The illegal trade of antiquities is a serious matter indeed. It undermines the veracity of the historical record.”
One guard lifted a woolly eyebrow at this but remained silent as his partner began inspecting Rhys’s mount. The Collector, it would seem, wasn’t willing to leave any stone—or saddle—unturned.
Then, as Helen had predicted, they instructed him to remove his boots. While one of the men inspected the stitching and soles, the other began patting Rhys’s vest pockets.
The guard found his watch and held it up for his partner to see. The gold glinted in the low light as the piece spun on its chain. Rhys immediately saw the error of his lie, for as he’d told Helen, no bandit would leave the watch. He held his breath, assessing his surroundings for an escape in case the guards possessed more sense than he’d credited them with.
But the man merely flipped the case open before closing it with a snap and pocketing the watch.
Jaw tight, Rhys said, “That was a gift.”
The guard flicked him a careless glance before resuming his search.
“This all seems a bit excessive,” Rhys added in mild protest, but his words went unheeded.
The bearded guard left Rhys’s boots and motioned to his satchel. Rhys frowned but handed the bag over. The guard rifled the contents, removing first a tin of tooth powder and a change of clothes before pulling a worn green book from the depths. One corner was bent, and a leather thong wrapped the cover. The guard turned the book in his hand.
“Sir John Gardner Wilkinson,” Rhys said. “His advice has been invaluable during our travels.Although,” he added, “my sister wasn’t overly impressed with the man’s recommended sleeping apparatus.”
The guard’s brows dipped, but he dropped the book back into Rhys’s satchel. “You may go.”
Rhys’s heart thumped heavily as he took the bag, and he resisted the urge to sigh his relief. His pockets were one watch lighter, but the guards hadn’t found the hollowed-out space in the center of Helen’s book. Despite the improbability of it, her ploy had worked. Sweat beaded his hairline as he realized how close he’d come to losing his only advantage against the Collector.
And although he’d not gained nearly as much information as he would have liked from the guards, he now knew one thing for certain: the Collector wasn’t just a king among criminals. He also held a degree of influence with the city’s officials. Retrieving his sister might prove more difficult than he thought.
——
Helen stood withthe professor outside the home of Mr. Masri’s cousin, Mr. Ibrahim. It was a modest clay-brick dwelling nestled near the bank of the Nile and adorned with colorful flowers and potted plants. Inside, Mr. Ibrahim and his wife had welcomed them warmly with a traditional Egyptian meal of lamb, rice and vegetables. As the Ibrahims and Tyndales prepared to retire for the evening, Helen had finally found a quiet moment with the professor.
His cheeks flushed as he eyed her. “And you’re certain this piece that Evelyn carries is part of the Pharaoh’s Trinity?” he said. “There are hundreds of artifacts unearthed every day. I imagine there must be any number that might be mistaken for it, and you and I both know there’s little evidence the Trinity even exists.”
She hadn’t mentioned the amulet to himearlier—to do so would only have delayed Rhys’s departure—but now her heart quickened as she retrieved her journal. She turned the pages quickly then handed her book to the professor. “Mr. Evelyn permitted me to make a sketch. I’m as certain as I can be without seeing the other two pieces. Did younot say the Order of Osiris believes they may have found one of the wings?”
“Hmm,” he said, running a blunt finger over her drawing. “Nothing is confirmed, of course, but I’ll know more when I meet with my contacts at the Egyptian Museum.”
“Then we must go to them in Cairo. Perhaps they know something of the Collector. Between your contacts and any assistance I can secure from the consul-general, perhaps we’ll learn something that will aid Mr. Evelyn in his search for his sister.”
He frowned as he considered her words. “Certainly, the museum will be interested to hear of Mr. Evelyn’s scarab. But the men who attacked you in Alexandria,” he said, “you believe they were working on behalf of this Collector person?”
“Yes,” Helen said with a nod. “We think they sought to recover the amulet when I interrupted their exchange.”
“Then this Collector is a very dangerous man indeed,” he said gravely. “I can’t approve your further involvement in the matter, and I think your father would agree.”
