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

Capítulo Veinticinco

CAPíTULO VEINTICINCO

Thunder roared in my head. I blinked once, twice, as the room spun again. Mr. Sterling became a man I had loved all my life. A man I had looked up to, a man I’d played with as a young girl, dressing up to perform Shakespeare for the household running the estate in Buenos Aires.

He removed his jacket and the padded belly around his middle, balling them up and tossing them over his shoulder, revealing his rangy build. Tears burned in my eyes, scalding my cheeks as they dribbled down to my chin while I stared into his face.

My father looked back at me, smiling slightly. In his soft voice that I would recognize anywhere, he said, “Hola, hijita.”

I bent forward, cradling my stomach. My breath caught in my throat, and I struggled to remain on my feet. I remembered the moment when I’d first read Ricardo’s letter back in Argentina, how my throat had felt tight, as if I’d been screaming for hours. It was the same now, and I couldn’t get a word out, couldn’t take a deep enough breath.

Papá was alive. Alive exactly like I’d hoped. Except he was Basil Sterling, someone I hated . The man who had founded Tradesman’s Gate.

A criminal, a liar, a con artist. A thief and a killer : I recalled Whit’s words from the other night when Mr. Sterling—Dios, when Papá —had given the order to kill that young man in the street.

Papá coaxed me to the chair, and I dropped into it, the weight of my realization sitting on my shoulders like granite. He laid his handkerchief onto my lap, and I wiped my face and blew my nose. Then he bent and slid his arm around my shoulders. He smelled different, astringent and slightly chemical; instead of a library, I pictured a laboratory. Papá rubbed my back, but I pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

If he touched me again, I knew somehow my throat would let me scream.

His arm fell to his side, and he eyed me warily.

I didn’t want his comfort, or his acidic scent, or his damn handkerchief. I wanted my father, and not this stranger who profited off history that wasn’t his own. Not this stranger who was a murderer .

But whoever I thought my father was, whatever I had believed, was lost to me forever. All it took was a few seconds, the time it had taken him to remove his appalling disguise. It was incredible how life could pivot so sharply. How someone you thought you knew could turn into a stranger in the space of a breath.

“How long have you been Basil Sterling?” I choked out, my throat still too tight. “How long have you been a criminal , Papá?”

He must have read the disappointment in my face because with every word, he became more and more withdrawn. My parents never argued in front of me, but I certainly had raged against them. In anger, Mamá became coldly stern and unmoving. If pushed, she was a screamer. Papá never shouted, never raised his voice above a moderate tone. He would use logic to wear down my arguments. He would reason and coax and turn factual or quote literary giants to support his arguments. I learned early on that it was hard to fight with someone smarter than you.

“How long have you been him ?” I said at his stubborn silence. “ How long? ”

“I have played the role of Basil Sterling for many, many years,” he said. “At first, it was because I grew increasingly frustrated by the antiquities department’s inability to staunch the flow of artifacts leaving Egypt. As a government agent, I witnessed firsthand the corruption, and I vowed to stop it—from within.”

“How noble of you,” I said scathingly.

He ignored my tone. “As I acquired many relics of historical value, I developed quite a name for myself. I knew real power.” His eyes gleamed. “Suddenly, dignitaries and collectors wanted what I had. At first, I sold anything chipped or defective in some way. Then duplicates, redundancies. Multiple statues of the same god—that sort of thing.”

My father always had an eye for business. “And so the money came in.”

“The money came in,” he affirmed. “I was down a road I never thought I’d travel, and one day I realized that I couldn’t turn back.” He sat down on the sofa, hooked his foot around the leg of my chair, and dragged it forward. We faced each other as we normally would when we’d discuss our favorite plays or the latest performance at the opera house. I used to ache for his attention, for his love, but looking at him now, I only felt a deep repulsion. “By then, it was too late. I’d done too much, and there was no going back,” he said softly. “I had no choice but to keep up the persona.”

“There’s always a choice—”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said sharply. “I didn’t want to turn back.”

“So you founded the moving gate,” I said bitterly. “And turned away from everything you taught me—respect for our histories, never to cheat or steal or commit murder. Was Mamá a part of it from the beginning?”

He leaned back against the sofa, folded his arms across his chest. The line of his shoulders was tense, his jaw rigid. “Not at first, but she caught on eventually. When she did, I had to loop her into my plans. She had a knack for bringing people together. Forging connections. She persuaded me to grant favors, give discounts.” His lips twisted. “Soon, I had the most influential people in my pocket. That was all your mother.”

“Then what happened?”

“She proved untrustworthy.”

Once again, I thought of the man my father had sentenced to death for making a mistake. Someone who was probably in over his head, not knowing he dealt with the devil.

I was suddenly sitting too close to him. This room felt too small with him in it. But my mind spun with questions, and I wanted to know more. “You mean the affair.”

“It was more than that,” he said. “But essentially, yes. She failed to re port back regularly, failed to show up when I needed her. She became too busy for me, and her visits to the excavation sites were infrequent. When she did turn up, her behavior was unacceptable.”

“What do you mean?”

Papá looked at me steadily. “That part will have to remain between me and Lourdes. Suffice it to say, I found her cold demeanor off-putting. During her last visit, I followed her back to Cairo and discovered the affair.” His fingers dug into his arms, knuckles turning white. “I learned of her little family, complete with another daughter. It wasn’t until I met her here in Alexandria with you that I put together who she was. A charming little reprobate. Isadora was her name, wasn’t it?”

Mutely, I nodded, noting his use of past tense. Briefly, I wondered how he had known what happened to her at the lighthouse. But an event like that would not have gone unnoticed for long.

“Well,” Papá said with an icy smile, “I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead. How did she die? Does it have something to do with the bruises on your neck?”

I remembered the way Isadora had wrapped her hands around my throat and squeezed, the panic I’d felt the moment I realized I wasn’t getting enough air. “She fell,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“She fell,” he repeated. “And the bruises?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said.

“It does to me.”

I brushed this aside. If his words were supposed to reassure me of his fatherly devotion and protection, it was too late for that. I didn’t want either of those things from him.

“Finish telling me about Mamá,” I said. “What happened after she betrayed you?”

Papá studied me, and I could tell his mind was working furiously. “I know you’ve questioned our decision to never bring you with us to Egypt. Throughout the years, you would beg, cry, rage at us to let you come along.”

“I remember.”

“It was your mother’s idea to never let you come with us, and I went along with it, because, well, I understood her reasoning. I gather you would have made up some reason for why she wanted you to remain in Argentina?” He unfolded his arms and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. I was struck by our similarities, the way our hair curled wildly, our inquisitive and curious natures. An ache bloomed in my heart, tearing it wide open.

A yawning wound I knew would never heal properly.

“Inez?”

I shook my head, tried to clear my thoughts. “Mamá felt it was too dangerous,” I guessed.

Papá nodded. “Yes. We’ve acquired many enemies during our joint venture. But that wasn’t the main reason. Or to put it differently, we each had our secret reason for why we didn’t want you to come to Egypt. Your mother didn’t want you to see who she really was—an adulteress, a thief. She wanted you to have the idea she had shaped of herself, perfect in every way. A real lady.” His tone had turned caustic. “Respectable, admired.”

“And your reason?”

Papá smiled. “That will come later. But suffice it to say, it all hinges on what you do next.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t need you to right now,” he said. “What I do want you to understand is that your mother tried to destroy me. And so I retaliated, hurting her where she’s most vulnerable by doing the worst thing I could think of.”

“What was that?”

“I made sure you would come to Egypt.”

There was a knock on the door.

Without looking away from my face, Papá said, “Enter.”

Mr. Graves peered around the door. “It’s time. Everything is set up.”

“Is she there?” Papá said, his dark eyes still trained on mine.

“They both are.”

Papá stood up and extended his hand toward me. “It’s time to go, Inez.”

“I don’t want any part of this… this war between you and Mamá. I gave you what you wanted. Now you must honor our terms and send her to Cairo so—”

“There is no honor among thieves,” he said. “You are coming with me, hijita.”

Mr. Graves came forward, a pistol in his hand.

“You would shoot your own daughter?” I whispered. I couldn’t believe that he would actually do something so horrific.

Papá looked me over, studying the lines and curves of my face. “I raised you as my own. But ever since I found out about the affair, my plans for you have shifted. Your mother is a whore, and I don’t believe Mr. Fincastle was her first paramour.”

“No,” I whispered. “You don’t think…”

“I’d be a fool not to ask the question,” Papá said gravely. “Whose daughter are you? Mine or someone else’s? You very well could be my own child. My own blood.” Then his face hardened; deep lines flared outward from the corners of his eyes. “But you might also not be.” He flicked his head toward the door, and then motioned for me to get up. I obeyed in a kind of daze. “Either way, why don’t we go ask your mother?”

I felt as if I’d been dealt a mortal blow, but somehow, I was still expected to walk and talk and take orders. I was still expected to breathe after he casually stated that I might not be his flesh and blood. Yes, I mostly favored my mother in my looks, but I never questioned whether I was his child. We both loved reading Shakespeare, getting lost in stories, or learning about the past.

It couldn’t be true that I wasn’t his daughter.

But even if it was, would he murder a child he’d raised?

Mr. Graves jabbed the tip of the gun deep into my back, and I jumped.

“I’m afraid I have more patience than he does,” Papá said. “I would do as he says.”

Then he collected his disguise from off the floor and once again became Mr. Sterling. As he fixed his awful mustache, realization slowly dawned on me.

My father had died the day I received my uncle’s letter. There would never be a moment when I’d look at Papá and not think of Mr. Sterling, his alter ego. A man he’d created who used violence to get what he wanted, lies to become more powerful, and coercion to acquire information.

The man I had loved all my life was gone forever, and what killed me most was that I had never known who Papá was at all, or what he was capable of.

If I had, maybe I could have protected myself from ever loving a monster.

We took another carriage, and once again I found myself seated next to Mr. Graves. They blindfolded me. They must have believed that with the gun pointed in my direction, I would not make a fuss. But I was reeling from our conversation, and I couldn’t sit still. I wanted out of the brougham; I wanted out of my father’s heinous plans.

“Do not fidget, Inez,” Papá said.

I swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you reveal who you were earlier?”

“You had only just arrived, and I needed to see how you would fare,” he said. “I watched you from afar and observed who you were without your mother or me there to guide or admonish your behavior. I sent you the golden ring, wondering if the magic would leach into you, like it did me.”

“Is that the proof you were looking for?” I asked bitterly. “To confirm our blood was the same?”

“It certainly helped, but magic is fickle, and I couldn’t rely on it entirely,” he said. “I kept tabs on you while you walked through the bazaar and felt joy when the magic lured you to the same trinket vendor I had visited.” His voice dropped to a disappointed hush. “But then you disappeared. No one knew where you had gone. My men searched your hotel room and found that you’d left your trunks behind. Clothes, books, most of your art supplies.”

That was when I had stowed away on the Elephantine . “Why didn’t the magic lead you to me?”

“You’d traveled too far,” he said. “And I realized you must have gone with Ricardo to a secret excavation site—which could have been anywhere in Upper Egypt. Thanks to his brute aide-de-camp who spread rumors of several dig locations down the Nile.”

Whitford. I couldn’t help my small smile.

“A dishonorably discharged soldier for a husband. I’m so proud, Inez.”

I flinched at the harsh reprimand.

“That is your mother in you,” he continued. “When I’d found out that she had stolen Cleopatra from me, that you had helped her—well, I admit I lost my temper.”

“Cleopatra never belonged to you,” I said. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Well, thanks to you, she’s in your mother’s ignorant hands. I realized then that you were doing more damage to me than I had anticipated. I had hoped you’d act with more sense. But you disappointed me, Inez.”

“Is that when you ordered my kidnapping?”

Papá tugged the blindfold off me. I blinked several times, waiting for my eyes to adjust. It didn’t take long; a quick glance out the window revealed a darkening sky. We were in the outer city limits of Alexandria, the field of ruins spreading out in every direction. Fallen columns and small hills peppered the expansive area. I turned my attention back to my father.

“It was,” he said. “I saw you at the New Year’s Eve party and gave the order for a dark-haired young woman in a gold dress to be brought to me. But your mother intercepted my men and marked the wrong girl. I had no use for Elvira.”

Fury tightened my hands into fists. “You had her killed.”

“No,” he said. “Your uncle did when he refused to tell me where Lourdes had gone.”

“He didn’t know,” I exclaimed, leaning forward.

Mr. Graves swung his arm forward and pushed me back against the seat with a violent shove. I gasped, trying to wiggle away, but he wouldn’t budge.

“I was sorry to hear of her death,” he conceded. “Entirely avoidable.”

I let out a sob, shutting my eyes. It didn’t matter—tears swept down my cheeks, and I hated my display of emotion, of vulnerability. He didn’t deserve it.

Mr. Graves let me go, and I slumped forward, shuddering.

“When I made my offer for you to join me in my search for Lourdes, it was a sincere one,” Papá said. “I had hoped you’d have seen through her charms to discover the snake underneath. But you’ve stubbornly resisted the olive branch I offered, time and time again.”

“It would have been better if I believed you to be dead,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you stay that way?”

Papá caressed my cheek, but I jerked out of his reach. “Do you want to know my reason for having you stay away in Argentina?”

It wasn’t a question. I really ought not to give him the satisfaction, but I couldn’t help asking, “What was it?”

“It’s simple, Inez,” he whispered close to my ear. “I’ve built an empire, and I didn’t know if I could give you the keys to my kingdom.”

“That’s why you kept asking me to join you,” I said. “You were hoping to see… what, exactly? If I was corruptible?”

“I need an heir. Someone I could trust to help with my legacy.”

I shook my head, inching away from him. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“You might change your mind,” he said mildly. “After our conversation with your mother.” He turned in his seat, peering out the window. “Ah. I believe we’re here. Time to go underground, Inez.”

He opened the door and took the crook of my elbow in a firm grip and led me out and down onto the street. Dread built up inside me, brick by brick, as my father tugged me toward a nondescript well, big enough for one person to fit through. I took a closer look, and to my amazement, someone had carved the word Cerberus along the lip of the well.

Behind me, I sensed Mr. Graves’s looming presence. A glance over my shoulder confirmed him hovering close, carrying two lanterns. He handed one of them to my father.

Papá eyed my clothing. “I’m afraid you won’t be comfortable traversing the canals in your current dress.”

“As if you care about my comfort,” I snapped.

Mr. Graves gestured toward the gun in his holster. “She ought to go in first.”

Papá looked through the hole. “There seem to be steps carved into the stone. I’ll climb down first. Keep an eye on her. If you need to shoot, make sure she can still walk afterward.”

My jaw dropped as he disappeared below.

After a moment, Mr. Graves motioned for me to follow, the gun pointed at my face. I was confident that I would not still be able to walk if he were to pull that trigger. He lowered the lantern and, with his free hand, shoved me toward the entrance, my skirt tangling around my legs. With a sigh, I bent to grab the hem.

“Slowly,” he barked.

I gathered the fabric, and took my time straightening. Then I climbed up and over, my foot easily reaching the first step down into the hollowed-out world below. At the bottom, Papá helped me the rest of the way, and we silently waited in the dark as Mr. Graves brought down the lighting. We seemed to be standing on a raised platform, rectangular in shape.

By the time he made it to the floor, portions of the chamber were illuminated. The sound of rushing water drifted upward, and I gasped at the sight. It was as if I stood in a subterranean Gothic cathedral. We were on the upper level of three stories. Dozens of ancient columns, spaced equidistant from one another to form a grid, were linked by carved arches that framed vaulted ceilings at the top floor. It looked like a massive checkerboard, one on top of the other, with a column situated at every corner. The pillars were capped by ornately carved marble capitals in various architecture styles (Tuscan and Corinthian) featuring delicate leaves. There was no floor, but the top of the arches from the second and first levels provided a narrow path, the width of two feet, to allow passage. My fingers itched to draw the space; I’d never seen anything quite like it.

“Where to?” Papá asked.

Mr. Graves indicated to the left with one of his lanterns. “This way. The rest of the men are waiting for our arrival. Once we pass this section, there is a makeshift wooden platform that extends out to where we need to go.”

“And on what level will we find them?” Papá said, walking carefully forward.

“The bottom, right above the river water,” Mr. Graves said. “We’ll have to climb down at some point with a rope.”

I peered over the edge of the platform, the lanterns providing enough light to see the columns directly below us. Farther than that, it remained stubbornly pitch-black.

Pity I only just discovered a fear of heights.

Shuddering, I inched away on shaking knees. Papá stepped onto the walkway and nimbly crossed the first square. On either side was open air, divided by the next square shaped by the top of the arches from the network below. Once he reached the column on the other side, he had to step around the base and aim for the path on the opposite end. It was a careful dance. One wrong step, and gravity would reach her lethal hand to pull you down three stories. Mr. Graves indicated I ought to follow, but I quickly realized my skirt would make it difficult to navigate the narrow path.

To hell with propriety. I did not want to fall into the sewer.

I worked the buttons of my long skirt, but Mr. Graves let out a sharp warning. “Do not. Your father would not like you improperly dressed.”

“I might fall.”

“Lift your skirt higher and walk carefully. Now go .”

I let out a shaky breath and once again gathered the fabric. Fear worked itself under my skin, making my heart race. The rushing of the water roared in my ears. I swallowed hard and took the first step onto the path, keeping an eye on my father as he traversed the gloom.

We made our way silently. I gripped my skirt tightly, my palms beginning to sweat. The air tasted stale and wet, the sound of the hidden Nile a constant presence. Every now and then, we passed a large spout that shot water where it met with the sewer below. An eerie waterfall in the near dark.

“Remarkable,” Papá called backward. “This used to be Alexandria’s water supply, dating to the city’s founding. Of course, the water isn’t drinkable now, thanks to years of neglect. Can you picture Julius Caesar walking this same footpath?”

I peered up at the crumbled capitals above us. To my left, there were missing pillars, disrupting the grid. “Are these structures safe?”

“Doubtful,” Papá said. “I’d take care if I were you.”

I glared at his back before dropping my gaze to the path. I could not afford a misstep. Terror gripped me as I inched forward.

“Quicker now,” Mr. Graves intoned. “It’s not much farther.”

Another ten minutes, and Papá reached a section that had a long rope looping around it. He lowered the lantern for a closer look. A system of pulleys provided extra support and leverage. Papá had seemed dauntless, leading us deeper and deeper under the city of Alexandria. But now he stopped and turned to frown at Mr. Graves, who waited behind me.

“Surely there is a better option,” Papá hissed quietly.

“There is not,” Mr. Graves whispered in his gruff voice. “If you pull, there is an extra loop that serves as a kind of seat. It was the best we could come up with, given the time available.”

Papá’s lips thinned, but he bent and yanked on the rope, tugging until the extra loop came into view. The sound reverberated like thunder. My father slowed his movements and proceeded more quietly. He situated himself onto the makeshift seat, awkwardly pushing at his fake belly to give himself more room. Papá was not a young man, but his years in Egypt had kept him active and adept at handling the warmer climate.

Papá jumped off the ledge, and I let out a gasp. But the rope held as he swung in the air, anchored by the pulley. He tugged on the rope, one hand over the other, and slowly lowered himself. It took a long while, and my legs ached, tense from keeping balance on the narrow path.

“You’re next,” Mr. Graves said.

“May I have the lantern?” I asked.

“You may not,” he said. “Here comes the seat. Go on, now.”

I fought the whimper climbing up my throat, but I stepped forward, slowly, and crossed to the rope. I put my head and shoulders through the loop and tugged it down until it cupped my bottom. I shortened the loop, feeling it tighten. This was, by far, the scariest thing I would ever do. I was sure of it.

“Jump, Miss Olivera,” Mr. Graves said in a tone that brooked no argument.

My body quaked as I inched to the edge. I stood far enough from Mr. Graves, who held the only source of light, so that when I looked down, I saw nothing but pitch-black. I was going to step into utter darkness, suspended in the air by one measly rope.

“Do it,” he said, cocking the gun. “ Silently .”

Whit’s face swept across my vision, and I pretended he waited for me at the bottom. I heard his warm voice when he had taken me into the cave to show me a secret painting on the wall, hidden for centuries. A Christmas present for me. He had kept me safe, with a firm grasp on the rope. I pictured him holding it now.

My imagination would not fail me.

I leapt off the path.