Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Once

CAPíTULO ONCE

“I’ll follow them,” Whit said grimly. “Perhaps I can talk some sense into Maspero. It was only a matter of time before the department learned of the discovery, and now he looks foolish. Everything he does next will be to regain control of the situation. I might be able to reason with him—” He broke off, shaking his head slightly, as if realizing the improbability of such a feat. Then he glanced at me. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”

I averted my gaze. I found it hard to look at him without feeling a razor-sharp spike of anger ignite my blood, without remembering the night when he’d held me in his arms and lied to my face.

“With answers,” Farida said. “Please.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught him nodding, but not to Farida, to me. I could feel the weight of his stare. Then he strode out the door, and I finally lifted my eyes in his direction. He broke into a run the second he’d descended the front steps. The last time he ran that fast, he was chasing after my carriage as if his life depended on it. Farida and I stared into the street long after Whit was out of sight, where other guests were enjoying lemon squash and cups of coffee. “What if I never see him again?” came Farida’s anguished whisper.

Before I could reply, a familiar voice rang from behind us, coming from the packed lobby.

“What on earth has happened?” Isadora demanded, pale blue skirt swirling around her ankles. “Everyone is in a flutter, talking about the authorities coming to the hotel.”

“They were here to make arrests,” I said.

“ What? ”

I motioned toward Abdullah’s granddaughter. “Isadora, I’d like to present Farida, Abdullah’s granddaughter, to you. I believe you didn’t have the chance to meet her in Aswan. Farida, this is my… my sister, Isadora.”

Farida startled and looked at me questioningly. “I wasn’t aware you had a sibling. Your parents never mentioned another child.”

A faint tremor rippled through Isadora so quick I might have imagined it. When she spoke, her voice had its usual direct quality to it that I’d come to admire. “A pleasure to meet you. I gather this morning’s interlude had something to do with the two of you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I hissed. “Let’s go up to the room to talk.”

We made a somber party, squished on the narrow bed, the tall stacks of boxes surrounding us like fortress towers. I really needed to figure out what to do with my parents’ possessions. Farida settled against the wood headboard, fingers twisting around the bedding. Her dark hair was pulled into an elaborate roll, and the long stretch of her skirt flounced around her like the cap of a mushroom.

Isadora sat at the foot of the bed, watching us uneasily.

“When did you arrive?” I asked Farida.

“Yesterday evening,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I came as soon as I heard what happened. My poor grandfather—he feels so defeated, and now for this to happen? I wanted to care for him, and now I won’t be able to.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Isadora said. “But can someone please tell me what happened ?”

“Monsieur Maspero had my uncle and Abdullah arrested,” I said. “For failing to report their discovery and the subsequent thievery of Cleopatra’s cache, and of course, her mummy is missing also.”

Isadora raised her brows. “What will happen to them?”

“Ricardo will most likely face trial in the mixed courts,” Farida answered. “As for my grandfather… I doubt he’ll be dealt with fairly in any court.” Her bottom lip trembled, and her hands tightened into a death grip. “When he wrote me, he only mentioned his injuries, but he was vague about the actual theft.”

I glanced at my sister. “She deserves to know the truth.”

Isadora pinched her lips, as if expecting my response. “It was my father,” she said in a hushed voice. “He was hired by Ricardo as security, but he used his position to access the dig site.”

“And I believe our mother had a hand in this plan,” I said. “It’s no accident her lover ended up in that role on Philae. Mamá must have known Ricardo was looking for someone to guard the island.”

Farida’s eyes had gone wide, flickering between us. “I’m sorry, I seem to have missed crucial information. Lourdes and—” Farida gestured toward Isadora. “And your father?”

Isadora and I nodded in unison.

“And Lourdes was involved in the theft?”

I grimaced. “I accidentally helped her.”

“She manipulated you,” Isadora said, and I threw her a grateful smile. It was hard not to feel responsible, and no matter how many times I told myself that any other person might have done the same thing for their own mother—who they’d believed had died—it still didn’t signify. My guilt knew no reason.

“I can’t believe this of Lourdes,” Farida murmured. “She seemed so lovely, so considerate.” She sat up straighter, unclasping her hands. “I just remembered—I brought something for you.”

“For me?” I asked in surprise.

Farida nodded, scooting off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

When the door shut, Isadora half turned in my direction. Only her expression revealed the merest hint of her distress. Her brows knitted together in a frown as she said, “And so, if we don’t find my parents, two people will be charged with a crime they didn’t commit. Though, both ought to have reported their discovery as is mandated by the department of antiquities.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, my hackles up in defense of Tío Ricardo and Abdullah. She didn’t know of their lifelong mission, how they meticu lously recorded their findings and did their best to leave their discoveries as undisturbed as possible. I made a promise never to reveal their practices, and I meant to keep my word. “If you had the full picture, you might think differently.”

“What is the full picture, then?” she demanded.

“I cannot say.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well then, my judgment stands.”

“They had their reasons,” I insisted. “And I believe they are doing the best they can in a tough situation.”

“But had they been forthright, had they worked with the department,” Isadora countered, raising her voice slightly, “then Maspero could instead concentrate on finding the actual culprits. But all of his energies will involve interrogating the wrong people while attempting to locate the stolen artifacts. Not to mention Cleopatra herself.”

“What if we found the actual culprits?” Farida asked. She stood within the doorframe, holding a small bundle of photographs in one hand, her portable camera in the other. Isadora and I both jumped; we hadn’t noticed her return. Farida closed the door behind her and resumed her place on the bed, spreading everything on the dark green coverlet. “I’ve been practicing taking pictures, and I have several of your parents, Inez, from my time in Philae.” She lifted the bundle. “These were taken before they disappeared.”

I looked down, unable to speak.

Farida reached forward and lightly placed her hand on my arm. “I brought them because, well, I thought you might like keepsakes of your parents. But now I’m wondering if I ought to look through every photo I’ve taken while on Philae. Perhaps there might be something that could help us build a case against your mother?” She fanned the photographs on the bed. “I’ve taken hundreds, and I’m still waiting for Kodak to develop the rest. They should arrive any day now from their facility.”

“That’s very clever, Farida,” Isadora said approvingly.

My eyes burned and I looked away, inhaling sharply to fight the tears threatening to spill. When I felt in control of my emotions, I gazed at the pictures. There were at least a dozen images of the campsite, the temple, and in each one, Mamá and Papá could be found within the frame. Sometimes it was the two of them, sometimes they were each alone. None of the photographs were posed—all of them seemed to be taken when my parents were in a flurry of motion. Their edges were soft and blurry, their faces looking smeared, as if someone had skimmed over their features with a large paint brush.

But it was easy to identify them. Mamá’s neat dark hair, high-collared shirts, and long skirt, Papá in his button-down shirt and gray trousers, his slim build hunched at the shoulders, as if readying to read a book. His spectacles caught the sunshine, and a bright flare covered his face in nearly all of the photos.

There was one photo in particular that drew my eye. It seemed to be of a room, but the lighting made the image hard to grasp. The picture wasn’t blurry, but something about it was odd. It was clearly someone’s bedroom on Philae, one that looked incredibly familiar to my eye. I leaned in closer. In fact, I had seen this room before.

“It is your parents’ accommodations while at the campsite,” Farida said quietly.

Isadora turned the photo upside down and then right again. “I don’t understand. Where is the wall? It looks blown through, but when I was there, the rooms were all intact.”

Farida inhaled deeply and pulled out her Kodak from a leather carrying case. “After I bought my camera, I made an incredible discovery of my own.”

I’d seen it before when I had first met her in Aswan. It was ordinary looking, a wooden box with a brass wind-up key at the top, a round hole for viewing, and a small button placed on the side.

“This camera is magic touched.”

I let out a low whistle, while Isadora bent her head to examine it more closely.

“There’s something that was used in the making of this camera that allows me to take photos that reveal what’s on the other side of a wall. An unusual but useful spell. My hunch is that it’s the brass key at the top that’s used to roll the film to the next slide. The magic doesn’t work on clothing or metal or anything like that. Only certain kinds of walls. Stone, rock, clay, granite, limestone.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Anything that might have been used in antiquity, I suppose.”

“Interesting,” Isadora said. “So we’re essentially seeing our mother’s room and all of her things.” She held up the picture. “Everything looks ordinary. Plenty of books and linens, her trunk and extra candles, matches. One mirror.”

“Mamá carried around her journal frequently,” I said, studying another photograph. I recalled the curious doodles Whit had pointed out. His face appeared in my mind, and I winced slightly, forcing him far from my thoughts. I hated how often he cropped up in my head. Especially in the quiet moments when I was still, my thoughts unguarded.

I gave myself a mental shake, and reached into my canvas bag for my journal and charcoal pencils. Flipping to a blank page, I searched for something to sketch. Drawing always brought me back into focus, smoothed away my worries. It helped me redirect my thoughts in a proper direction.

My gaze landed on Farida’s camera, and as if by their own accord, my fingers tightened their hold on the pencil and began to move.

“She also was tasked with recording any findings,” Farida said. “There’s one where she’s writing in a thick leather book.” She rummaged through the photos. “Here it is—look. I remember taking this one, actually. She used to have a little wooden desk that she carried everywhere so she could write. This photo is when she had placed the desk overlooking the river. It was in a more secluded area, and I thought she looked, well, picturesque.”

I squinted at the photo. Isadora leaned closer to look over my shoulder. Mamá sat in a wooden chair, her back straight, her slim neck bent as she wrote in the book. In her other hand was a small square-shaped card. I drew in a quick breath.

“What is it?” Isadora asked.

I blinked, my eyes watering from the strain of trying to see what my mother held in her hand. “I might have this wrong, but I think that card could be an invitation to the illegal mar—”

“Wait a moment, Inez,” Isadora said sharply.

I glanced at her in surprise. She jumped to her feet nimbly, resembling a graceful cat. “Excuse me?”

“May I speak with you a moment? Out in the corridor?”

Hurt flashed across Farida’s face.

“Isadora, is that really necess—”

“Yes,” she said and then went to the door and held it open until I followed after her. Farida had her face turned resolutely from me, and a flicker of annoyance at my sister bubbled to the surface. I walked through the door, and she closed it softly.

“What is it?” I demanded, one hand on my hip.

Isadora rubbed her temples, her eyes squeezed shut. “You are so trusting.”

I lowered my chin at her, lips parting in outrage. “Maybe so, but it’s Farida .”

She rolled her eyes and led me down a few steps from my hotel room. “How well do you know her? I’m not saying she isn’t a lovely person, but I just met her, and I think we ought to be cautious.”

“Well, I disagree. She’s as involved as we are and highly motivated to help her grandfather. Our interests are aligned, and I happen to like her. I think she’ll be very helpful—you said so yourself. You called her clever, remember?”

Isadora waved her hand dismissively. “It’s one thing for her to collect photographs, quite another for us to include her in our plans to attend an illegal auction . Think of the risk we’d be asking of her! We must move quietly, and the more people we involve, the more attention we draw to ourselves.”

“One more person won’t shatter our plans,” I said.

“Really?” Isadora said, one honey-hued brow arching. “Three women, without a chaperone, sneaking into one of the most illicit activities Cairo has to offer? In the dead of night?”

“I’m a married woman,” I said, crossing my arms. “Obviously, I’d be the chaperone, but are you really concerned with the proprieties at this point? Because I’m not in the slightest.”

She bit her lip, considering. “I suppose you’re right. But should anything happen to her, it’s on your conscience.”

Her words bit into my skin. I didn’t want to be responsible for another person. I didn’t want to fail another human being I cared about. “It’d be her choice, of course,” I replied stiffly, but even to my own ears, I sounded unsure.

Isadora nodded and together we returned to Farida. She had stood, gathering all of the photos, picking up her camera.

“Oh, please don’t leave yet,” I said hurriedly. “Isadora and I have been working on a plan—but it involves a degree of risk that we had to discuss.”

Farida stilled, warily looking between us. “Your plan is dangerous.”

“It could be,” Isadora said. “I have something to share with both of you, but once I do, we need to carefully consider all potential outcomes. It might not be worth it.”

“I know a story about Monsieur Maspero,” Farida said quietly. “Regarding the arrest of three brothers from a small village. This family had made a monumental discovery, and for years, they illicitly sold and traded countless artifacts. It was only a matter of time until Monsieur Maspero caught wind of their dealings. While in his custody, the three brothers were tortured until they revealed the location of the cache.”

“Tortured,” I choked out.

“I heard about this,” Isadora said in a horrified whisper. “One brother died, and another turned.”

Tears swam in Farida’s dark eyes. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t risk to help my grandfather. Please tell me your plan.”

“When I left Philae, I mailed a few letters to some of my father’s friends, letting them know what happened and to ask for help in locating him.” Isadora’s lips twisted in distaste. “I even wrote to a scoundrel my father sometimes hired when working bigger jobs. Well, this man wrote me back and offered information about one place my father might turn up.”

“Tell me,” I breathed. “Is it…?”

Isadora nodded slowly. “I know when and where the gate will move.”

“And?” I demanded.

“Tonight,” she said. “Four in the morning.”

Farida frowned. “What is a gate that moves?”

“It’s the illegal black market in Egypt, called Tradesman’s Gate,” I said. A sudden idea struck me, and I smiled shyly at Farida. “How would you feel about bringing your camera with you?”

“To the black market?” she asked. “Won’t that draw suspicion?”

My smile widened as I pulled at the scarf at my neck. The silk caressed my skin as I twirled the ends around my finger, loosening the knot. “I have something that will help with that.” In one fluid motion, I dropped the scarf over the handheld camera. The fabric rippled as it fell softly against the bed.

Farida gasped. “Where did it go?”

I lifted the scarf and found the shrunken camera and held it in the palm of my hand. “Little less suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Mother’s scarf,” Isadora said softly. “I’ve always loved it.”

“I never gave it back.” I glanced at my sister, at the sudden bleakness pooling in her blue eyes. I knew she was thinking of how this seemingly harmless stretch of silk had caused so much trouble. “And tonight we’ll use it to take as many photos as we can. The artifacts, the location, and all the people attending the illegal auction.”

WHIT

Sir Evelyn had made me wait hours to see him. I spent the majority of my time restraining myself from kicking down his door. The rational part of my brain kept reminding me that wouldn’t help my case.

In the end, controlling my temper hadn’t helped me.

The sanctimonious twit forbade me from speaking with either Ricardo or Abdullah. He was the most powerful man in Egypt, the one who could have opposed Maspero’s order to detain them in prison, but did he use his power and influence for any good? Of course not. His dislike of the pair overruled common decency or sense. From Sir Evelyn’s office, I rushed to the antiquities department to speak with Maspero, which had turned into a shouting match. He refused to listen to my arguments, no matter how loud I yelled them, and ignored my demands that the two men be kept out of the prison.

An absolute mess of a day.

I yearned for my flask.

But it was keeping company with crocodiles at the bottom of the Nile. I dragged a hand down my face, blinking wearily. Shepheard’s lobby, while extravagant, wasn’t exactly the best place for sleeping. The alcove, at least, had several chairs. I pushed two together and tried to make myself comfortable.

Wasted effort. My legs were too long.

With a sigh, I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I were anywhere else. I’d give myself three minutes. Three minutes to let myself feel the weight of my exhaustion, to let the soothing dark of the alcove quiet my racing thoughts. It had been the darkest place I could find with easy access to the hotel entrance. My eyes drifted shut.

One more minute.

But my mind wouldn’t rest. I had a feeling it wouldn’t until this was over. For a second, I debated going upstairs to lie down on that miserable cot in our room, but I didn’t want to risk waking my wife, who hated me, and her sister, whom I didn’t trust. There was no point, anyway, since I’d be leaving for the auction soon.

Slowly, unwillingly, I opened my eyes and fixed my attention on the grand wooden clock at the end of the room lording over the space like a sentry on watch, the minutes dragging to four in the morning.

No one stirred in the lobby, and even the hotel attendant behind the counter had propped his stool near the wall so that he might sleep. I could have another few minutes. There was still time. I tipped my head again, resting it against the curve of the back of the chair, and stretched my legs out in front of me. My eyes drifted closed by their own accord.

And still, sleep evaded me.

Alchemical symbols swam across my mind, golden and glittering against a dark backdrop. My fingers itched to turn the pages of my textbooks where I might find another clue. More than ever, I needed to find that sheet. I would not allow Lourdes to beat me to it.

I needed it with a desperation that burned me all the way through.

The sound of people coming down the stairs jolted me upright. I squinted across the shadowed lobby, wondering who in their right mind would be awake at this hour. Three slight figures descended, covered in long coats, desperately trying to be silent. They crossed the lobby on tiptoes, furtively glancing over their shoulders at the hotel worker, who was blithely unaware that some of Shepheard’s guests were leaving at an ungodly hour.

But it didn’t matter how sneaky they thought they were being, or how quiet.

I had recognized one of them.

My crafty wife.

I stood up as I slung my jacket on. Out of habit, I checked to make sure my knife was safely embedded in my boot, and then I followed after them, my temper rising like steam.

Inez, darling , where are you off to?