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

Capítulo Trece

CAPíTULO TRECE

The stairs were rickety, groaning under our weight as we climbed to the floor above. They must have been intended for the staff, as the space was cramped and narrow, opening to a small hallway lined by shut doors. Ahead, the noise of people settling down drifted toward us as we tiptoed closer.

Whit silently peered around the corner at the end of the corridor. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” I whispered.

“I’m going to add these chairs to the back row,” he whispered back.

He crept forward, returning after a moment, the line of his jaw tight. I skirted around him to have a look myself and nearly gasped. The auction was about to take place in a large room, rectangular in shape, with peeling wallpaper and a dusty candle chandelier that swung precariously above rows and rows of seats. Every single one of them, except the two Whit had just added, were filled. I tipped my head back to note how the third floor overlooked the second, as if it were an open courtyard. From the outside, the building hadn’t appeared that large, but now I realized that it went back farther from the street.

How were we going to explore every inch? It would take hours.

Although, I supposed we didn’t have to do the actual exploring right now. Not if Farida was able to take pictures of the walled rooms. We could always examine them later—but then I recalled her mentioning that she was still waiting for her other photographs to be developed and mailed back to her. We would have to search as much as we could during the length of the auction.

“Here’s what we should do,” he began in a hush.

“No,” I said firmly and just as quietly. “Here’s the plan.”

He lifted a single brow, and waited for me to continue.

“One of us needs to sit in during the auction to see if any of the Cleopatra cache is actually here,” I said. “Isadora and I will do that, as we are familiar with what to look for. Farida, you and Whit ought to go and see if you can locate any of the items that are going to be displayed. Take as many pictures as you can.”

“What happens afterward?” Isadora asked.

Whit gestured toward me with a faint smile. “My wife is the one with the plan.”

I ignored the label. “We meet down the street after the auction,” I said. “If that’s impossible, then the lobby of the hotel.”

“Wait a moment. She’s your wife ?” Farida asked, her rich brown eyes widening. “Since when? And why didn’t you invite me to the wedding?”

The corners of Whit’s lips tightened.

“We would have,” I said hurriedly. “But it happened quickly. Besides, it’s only a business arrangement.”

“Oh,” Farida said uncertainly, looking between us. I felt Whit’s quick stare; there was a faint air of outraged disbelief radiating from him, but I refused to look in his direction.

“Shhhh,” Isadora hissed. “Do you want them to hear you?”

Farida rubbed at her temples. “I’m trying to keep everything straight in my mind. This is new information I have to process.”

“Later,” Isadora said. “You have photographs to take.” Then she swept past, walking into the room as if she belonged there, and sat in the chair Whit had placed. Farida looked down the hall from where we had just come and then unwrapped my mother’s scarf from around her neck. She dug up her camera from deep within her skirt pocket, cradling it in the palm of her hand. I took the scarf and dropped it over her hand. A second later, her camera grew back into its normal shape.

“Magic is a beautiful thing,” I whispered. “It’s a shame it’s becoming extinct.”

“Everything comes to an end at some point,” Whit said, with the slightest inflection on everything .

I knew his words were in reference to my decision for a divorce. I tried not to read into his tone and how it sounded the littlest bit bleak. Or maybe that’s how I wanted him to sound. I was having a hard time keeping my heart in line with my mind.

Silly, foolish thing.

“I’m going to take pictures of the rooms on this floor,” Farida said. “Whit, I’m sure there are more above us?”

He nodded. “We’ll have to move fast to go through them all. Get started; I’ll be right behind you.”

My gaze skipped around the room to familiarize myself with the layout, in case we needed to leave quickly. There was another exit on the opposite end from us, next to a grand staircase.

“You’ll be fine on your own?” he asked her.

Farida nodded, already fiddling with her camera as she walked back the way we came. She tried the knob at the first door and found it locked, but she centered herself in front of it and snapped a picture. Then she moved a few paces to the right, angling herself in a different direction, and snapped another picture, this time of the wall. Her expression was determined, thoughtful, and I hoped that room was filled with enough evidence to damn the whole black market enterprise. Farida tried the next door, found it unlocked and presumably empty, then she flashed a quick, triumphant grin before disappearing inside.

We were alone, the tension crackling between us.

“Isadora is waiting,” I said, turning.

Whit reached for me but then seemed to change his mind. His hand dropped to his side. “Be careful.”

I bristled. After what he had done to me, I hardly believed he had any concern over my welfare. “Don’t pretend to care.”

“But I do,” he said quietly. “If you’re caught, the rest of us will have a harder time making it out of this building.”

It made perfect sense; the people who ran the auction would search the place from top to bottom, looking for anyone who had come with me. I ignored my sudden feeling of disappointment that he wasn’t, in fact, worried about me personally.

“I’ll be careful,” I muttered. Before he could say anything else, I went to the empty seat adjacent to Isadora. She stared fixedly to the front of the darkened room where a wooden stage stood. An older gentleman with graying hair and a wide smile stood behind a creaky podium. He leaned against it casually, one elbow bent as his eyes moved over the room. To his right was a stand illuminated by dozens of squat candles that hovered in the air, as if on strings.

At first, I marveled at the magic. And then my attention shifted to the object resting on the platform. I squinted, trying to identify what it could be. It looked to be a golden amulet in the shape of a scarab with a long chain, and when the auctioneer carefully picked it up, he showed the underside to the crowd.

“Just a little preview of the item before we begin,” he said with a grin. His cheeks creased, reminding me of a wrinkled sheet of paper. “I’m very excited for this evening’s lot.”

There were probably close to fifty people in this room alone. The majority of people, gentlemen and ladies both, were notably from Europe, with hair color ranging from pale blond and gray to sable. Several were dressed in fashionable, well-tailored clothing, outshining the drab surroundings. They were all wearing black satin masks, simple and austere, which covered the majority of their faces. Everyone sat in the same wooden chairs, and most had a paddle gripped in one hand.

“We don’t have one,” I said, nudging Isadora’s side.

She looked at me in alarm. “Were you planning on buying something?”

“Of course not,” I said. “But we’d fit in more if we had one as well.”

“No one is looking at us,” Isadora said with a dainty shrug.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Tradesman’s Gate,” the older gentleman suddenly called out. “I’m Phillip Barnes, and I’ll be your host for the evening. I’d like to thank our founder,” he said, gesturing to a man sitting in the front row, “who, for obvious reasons, will remain nameless.”

The founder stood and turned around, inclining his head. So, this was the man who was responsible for so much damage and destruction up and down the Nile River. His callous attitude toward Egypt and its people, its history, struck a raw nerve.

Part of me wanted to jump to my feet, just so I could scream at him, for my anger to fill up the entire room so that he might feel it in his bones. But I clutched the edge of my seat to keep myself in line and focused on cataloguing his appearance instead. My description could be useful for Monsieur Maspero, and I tried to remember as many details as possible: He had a round belly, and while his head was covered by a hat, his face covered by a mask, I could see that he had dark hair. His clothing was nondescript: black trousers, crisp light shirt, and the customary vest under a dark jacket. The founder shifted to resume his seat, but his face turned in our direction, and he paused, half-seated, half-standing. He righted himself and then motioned to someone standing off to the side.

The man nodded, looking in our direction.

Isadora inhaled sharply. “What do we do?”

Cold sweat beaded at the back of my neck. I forced myself not to fidget, not to run from the room. “Don’t panic and stay still,” I whispered. “It might be nothing.”

“I never panic,” Isadora said, frowning. “An utter waste of time. They could have noticed that we aren’t wearing masks,” she said. “We ought to go now, before—”

But it was too late. The man was already walking toward us, and my stomach swooped. I drew my feet closer together, readying to jump. If need be, I’d scream for Whit. He’d come running. Guilt was a powerful motivator.

“Don’t shoot him,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

“I don’t like this,” Isadora said, and she leaned forward slightly. While her jacket covered the gun she’d picked up downstairs, I caught glimpses of it every time she so much as twitched.

I was uncomfortably aware of the several attendees who had turned in their seats to watch, openly curious.

The man reached us. I could hardly breathe. Was he about to escort us from the room? Shoot us himself? Call for someone to question us?

“Our founder noticed you are without paddles,” he said, reaching into his coat’s inner pocket. He handed us the slim boards, cracker thin. Then he dug into his pockets and produced two black masks. “We also require everyone to wear these.”

Isadora took both and wordlessly handed me one.

“Gracias,” I said. “I mean, thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” my sister added.

He nodded, pale eyes flickering between us. “We must have missed you two when the gate opened.”

“Must have,” I said.

“Everyone is required to check in before walking through the gate.”

“Sorry. We were in a hurry to find seats,” I said quickly.

He dipped his chin. “It won’t happen again, ladies, should you wish to attend the next.”

Then he quietly moved away. I glanced to the first row, but the founder had already dismissed us and was facing the front of the room again.

Phillip cleared his throat. “Now that we are all settled and quite comfortable, it’s time to go over the essential details. As always, here are our rules: One, you are never to reveal the location of the gate you have walked through. Two, all payment must be rendered in twenty-four hours. No exceptions. Should you fail to do so, the item will go to the second-highest bidder. We will, of course, provide an address where you may send the funds. Three, any person found to be guilty of revealing the identity of anyone attending the auction will be brutally dealt with.” Phillip gave a thin-lipped smile. “You have been warned.”

I shivered as I tied my mask and then helped my sister tie hers.

“Let’s begin with the auction,” Phillip continued. “I’ll be presenting our customary lot of artifacts acquired in Egypt. But first, we have two unique items that have been recently discovered that I’d like to show you all.” He placed the amulet back onto the stand. “The first item open is this extraordinary heart scarab; its size is a little over two inches in length,” he said. “And as I’ve shown, there are rows of hieroglyphs on the bottom, and our scholars believe it to be a protection spell for the recently deceased. Opening bid is one thousand pounds.”

Immediately, several paddles swung up into the air.

“I don’t recognize that one, do you?” Isadora whispered.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think it belonged to Cleopatra,” I whispered back as the auctioneer accepted bids, the number going higher and higher. “I wish I would have thought to ask Farida to take pictures of the room and everyone in it.”

She nudged my side and then pointed with her chin behind us. I craned my neck to find Farida quietly taking pictures from the corridor. She met my gaze and smiled a grim sort of smile before disappearing again.

“Sold!” the auctioneer yelled. “For sixteen thousand pounds to the lady with number forty-three.”

“What if Mother decided not to sell at the gate?” Isadora asked. “What if she decided it was too risky?”

I pondered her question. Mamá had gone rogue, betraying the people she worked for, but she still needed to move the artifacts. I couldn’t know her reasons behind why she did what she had done, but if it were me, it seemed riskier to hold on to objects that the department of antiquities was now looking for than to try to sell them via an established market.

“She’ll be here.”

Isadora’s blue eyes flickered across the room at the other attendees. “Do you see anyone that might be her?”

I did the same slow perusal, and with a sinking heart, I realized it was too difficult to distinguish one lady from the next. There were one or two that had her same hair color, same slight build, but I couldn’t confirm with any kind of certainty. She might not even be here herself. It’d be stupidly reckless to appear in the same company as the man you had double-crossed.

But if she wasn’t here, how was she planning on selling what she stole?

It occurred to me that she might have sent an emissary. It was a plausible idea and I leaned closer to tell Isadora, but then someone appeared onstage carrying something blue in his gloved hands. The shape looked familiar and my breath caught at the back of my throat. It was only a quick glimpse of the relic, but it was enough to make my blood simmer under my skin. I didn’t pay any attention to the man handling the priceless artifact; I only cared about the familiar item. He placed it onto the stand before walking offstage, and I breathed a sigh of relief at finally being able to get a better look.

A moment later, I couldn’t breathe at all.

It was a statuette of an asp, made of Egyptian faience. My heart thrashed hard against my ribs, and I was assaulted by a sharp, painful memory. A forgotten tomb underneath a temple. The island of Philae, surrounded on all sides by craggy rocks and beyond; the Nile River, sweeping past in a blur of blue and green. Hot sand that I felt through the leather of my boots, and my fingers stained in charcoal. Whit hovering nearby, cataloguing artifacts, and the sound of Abdullah and Ricardo arguing over something or another.

“Isadora,” I whispered. “That’s from Cleopatra’s cache.”

Her brow puckered. “Are you sure? I don’t recognize it.”

“I am certain.” I clutched the paddle in my hand. “Because I drew it.”

She sat back in her seat, for once coming close to a slouch. “If Mother isn’t here, what good is it, though?”

My mind raced, the answer bubbling to the surface. By the time the auctioneer made his remarks, describing the object and the opening bid, I knew exactly what to do.

“Bidding begins at two thousand pounds,” he said.

I raised my paddle. “Five thousand pounds.” Isadora loudly coughed, her delicate face turning red. With my free hand, I slapped her back. “She’s fine, though the dust in this room is frightful.”

The founder turned in his chair and looked at me. I could have sworn I saw a smile on his face, before he resumed facing forward. After a moment, he stood and exited the room.

Phillip rearranged his surprised expression, though he couldn’t quite hide the excitement from his voice. “Five thousand to the lively young lady at the back. Do I hear five thousand two hundred pounds?”

Someone in the middle row raised their paddle.

“Five thousand two hundred,” Phillip said. “To the gentleman with the green coat. Do I hear—”

“ Ten thousand pounds ,” I said.

Isadora muffled her gasp. “Need I remind you that you don’t have any money? Your scoundrel of a husband went through it all in less than a day.”

I ignored her, waiting to see what the auctioneer would do. In the row ahead of us, several attendees had swirled around to gape at me. A few whispered farther up, no doubt wondering what was so special about the asp statue.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Phillip said. “I suppose I ought to mention where this little statue was found, hidden for two millennia in a burial chamber for one of the most famous rulers of ancient Egypt.” Several auction attendees leaned forward in their seat, their interest palpable. “The search for this ruler’s tomb has captured the imagination of the entire world, akin to the search for Noah’s ark and the Holy Grail. Are you ready to know the answer?” Phillip smiled smugly, a man who knew he held his audience in the palm of his hand.

“This asp was discovered alongside a pharaoh of Egypt, a woman of legend and renown.” Someone audibly gasped, while a ripple seemed to spread through crowd, as if they had been dreaming but were now awake and alert. “This same woman, long believed to be a talented Spellcaster, was the descendant of a famous alchemist who made the astonishing discovery on how to turn lead into gold. Rumor has it that she wrote the instructions down on a single sheet of parchment.” Phillip shifted, turning to address the other side of the room. “No one has found it— yet . But perhaps this asp’s final resting place will give us a clue to its whereabouts.”

“How?” someone yelled.

Phillip pivoted again, locating the man who had shouted the question. “Because of all the places where the Chrysopoeia could be, why not with the alchemist’s descendant? The news will break in all the newspapers soon, but for now, you have the pleasure of hearing it at the gate first: Cleopatra’s tomb and an incredible assortment of valuable treasures have been found!”

Phillip smiled, pausing for dramatic effect as the crowd teemed with unbridled enthusiasm. “Now, shall we resume the bidding?”

“Ten thousand five hundred pounds,” someone said, waving their paddle.

I glared at the individual, my own paddle already high over my head. “Fifty thousand pounds.”

The room hushed. Isadora sank farther into the chair, softly groaning.

“Fifty thousand pounds,” the auctioneer repeated faintly. He cleared his throat and shook his head, as if disbelieving his own words. In a stronger voice, he said, “Do I hear fifty-one thousand pounds?”

No one stirred.

“No?” Phillip asked. “Fair enough. Sold! To the young lady, apparently a Cleopatra aficionado.”

The same young man walked onto the stage, wearing gloves, and carefully removed the statue. Though he wore a mask obscuring his face, his auburn hair glimmered in the candlelight. He was wearing a different shirt than the one I’d seen him in earlier, and while he never once looked in my direction, I could sense his ire.

My rascal of a husband.

“That’s Whit,” Isadora said in astonishment. “Isn’t it? Wasn’t he wearing a blue shirt earlier, though?”

“It is Whit,” I confirmed grimly. “And he was wearing blue. He must have ruined the other or found a spare to use as a disguise.”

“What on earth is he doing?”

I massaged a growing ache at my temple, a yawning pit deep in my belly. When was I going to learn to take better care with my thieving husband? This auction presented many temptations for him, since money was what he was after. “He might be stealing the asp.”

“ What? ”

Whit disappeared into another room, as the throng of people chatted, several continuing to openly stare at me. Which, I suppose, I couldn’t blame them for. I had caused quite a stir. I jumped to my feet, intent on following after him, but someone cleared their throat from behind me.

I turned in surprise. It was the same man from before, the one who had given us the masks and paddles.

“Excuse me,” he said. “But the founder would like a word with you.” His attention flicked toward my sister, who stood, but the man shook his head. “No, not you. Only this one.”

WHIT

My wife’s plans would be the death of me.

I watched her sitting primly next to Isadora, her mind probably whirring with one reckless idea after another that would get her killed. I frowned, forcing myself to turn away, following after Farida as she snapped photographs of closed doors and different sections of the wall. Sometimes she gently tapped areas, and when she heard a particular sound, Farida smiled to herself before clicking the button on the side of her handheld camera.

“I’m going to explore upstairs,” I whispered as I brushed past her.

“I’ll be up shortly,” she replied, “as soon as I’ve taken enough down here.”

I nodded over my shoulder and climbed up the rest of the way. The third floor was somehow even worse than the other two. A layer of packed dust and grime coated the paneled floors, the rugs having been kicked aside at some point. The smell boasted of the dank and moist, and I winced as the potent stench worked its way up my nose. I moved silently, my boots hardly making a sound as I checked open rooms that were in the same dilapidated state as the rest of the house. One room was locked, and I raised my leg, preparing to kick the door in, but then I shook my head.

Too much noise. Farida and her magic camera could take care of this one.

The sound of the auctioneer calling out broke the quiet as I crept closer to an open space that looked down into the second floor’s proceedings. I walked the rectangular perimeter, taking care to keep to the shadows. From a certain angle, I could see Inez in her seat. She should never play poker. That girl wore everything on her face.

I pushed her far from my mind and focused on trying to find the rest of the relics. I was just about to leave the balcony area when a man approached Inez. She held her ground, but even from where I stood, I could see fear etched across her tightened brow. The knife tucked within my boot was in my hand in a matter of seconds, the handle digging in my palm. I approached the railing, readying to hurl it at the man should he even look at her wrong.

Lifting the knife, I exhaled slowly. My feet were already arranged in the exact position I’d need to generate enough force to send it flying into the man’s neck. Seconds ticked by.

He had no idea how close to the grave he was.

But then he gave Inez a paddle and a mask, and I relaxed marginally. It was only when he walked away that I tucked the weapon back inside my boot. My attention flickered to the stage where the item for sale rested on a platform. It looked like an expensive piece of jewelry, with a long golden chain, gemstones glimmering in the soft candlelight.

I was more interested in the employee who had brought the item onto the stage.

An idea took shape in my mind as I walked away from the railing. I found more stairs, and I descended quickly. This wing of the house was marginally louder—sounds of quiet conversation and people walking drifted in my direction as I made my way down a long corridor. Like the other wing, the hallway opened up to many more rooms, some doors left open, others closed. When I reached the end, I peered around the corner. Two men stood facing the other direction, talking in hushed tones. I crept closer.

The sound of the bidding began, not too far off. At a particularly loud interval, I raised my hands and shoved their heads together. Hard. They slumped to the floor, and I dragged their unconscious bodies into one of the empty rooms.

“What are you doing?” someone asked from somewhere behind me.

I tensed but walked out of the room, closing the door after me. A short man stood in one of the open doorways farther down, looking at me curiously. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding this room?” he asked in an English accent, jerking his chin behind him.

It was hard to check my amusement, but I managed. “I thought I heard something.” The short man took a step in my direction, but I held up my hand. “Only rats. I took care of them.”

He regarded me warily before shrugging, then he went back into the room, evidently dismissing me. I followed him inside and stopped short. Wooden crates, the majority of which were nailed shut, covered nearly every foot of floor space. Empty bottles of wine littered the surfaces, along with stacks of old newspapers. Presumably used for additional cushioning for the antiques.

The short man was still eyeing me suspiciously. He fidgeted and swallowed hard, eyes darting nervously toward the door. “I haven’t seen you before.”

Tension seeped into the room, and I got the distinct impression he was trying to catch me unawares. Any sudden movements on my part would alarm him, and we were too close to the auction. I couldn’t risk him yelling for help. My attention flickered back to the newspapers. Nonchalantly I pulled the top stack and pretended to read the front page.

“I was only just hired,” I said casually, thumbing through the pages of The Egyptian Gazette . I recognized this particular press. Every article was written in English and represented the interests of many European countries who invested in the archaeological pursuits of their countrymen or in the production of Egyptian cotton.

Whatever. I didn’t pick it up for reading.

“We have to work, you know,” he said, annoyed.

“Then tell me what to do,” I said, rolling the paper tightly at a diagonal until it narrowed into a sharp point.

The short man indicated to one crate stacked atop another. “This one’s next.”

He pried the lid off with a crowbar, and I drew closer, my pulse ticking hard, the rolled-up paper in my fist. I peered into the crate, aware of the anxious man standing on the other side, breathing heavily. Nestled inside the wrapping was a blue statue of an asp. For a moment, I was back underground, inside Cleopatra’s final resting place. Inez knelt in front of a row of figurines, her charcoal pencil clutched in one hand while the other gripped a journal. I’d seen this statue in the treasury; I was sure of it—sure, too, that Inez had drawn an illustration of it.

I lifted my eyes, only to meet my companion’s shrewd gaze and a dagger in his right hand.

“You’ve seen it before,” he accused. “Where are the other two men?”

“I told you,” I said calmly. “I took care of the rats.”

The man leapt around the crate, jabbing the knife. I blocked his movement, but the tip dragged along my arm, ripping my shirt. I glared down at the long scrape in annoyance.

“This was my most comfortable shirt,” I muttered.

He swung the knife again and I sidestepped, cracking a hard hit to his right eye. He moaned, and now the dagger came at me wildly in downward arcs. I swerved out of reach, barely avoiding the edge of the blade.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I hissed. “ Enough .”

The short man came at me again, eyes wild. The edge of his weapon scraped against my other arm—I cursed, pivoting, and then I drove the tip of my pointed newspaper up through the underside of his chin. His eyes widened as blood spewed out of his mouth. With my index finger, I gently poked his chest, and he toppled over in a messy heap.

I glanced down at my shirt and sighed. There’d be no cleaning it now. Quickly, I dragged the man into the room where I had knocked the other guards unconscious. I took off one of their masks and shirts and hurriedly put on both before doubling back to the artifacts. I kicked over a rolled-up rug to cover the blood just as someone else entered the room, carrying a clipboard.

“It’s time for the next artifact,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “My God, the smell in this room.” He pointed to the statuette impatiently. “It’s that one, and don’t forget to wear the gloves.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m right behind you.”

I found the gloves on top of another crate and dragged them on before taking the asp out of its nest of wrappings. Then I followed him to the auction room, peering over his shoulder at the clipboard in his hands.

On it were pages filled with addresses.

I smiled to myself before taking the stage.