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

Capítulo Veintiséis

CAPíTULO VEINTISéIS

I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out. The rope tautened, snapping against the archway. I held on to the loop with both hands as if it were a swing. I leaned forward, balancing, and reached for the other rope, barely visible from the lantern’s light. Then I pulled, imitating my father’s hand-over-hand motions, and slowly lowered myself down, down, down. The light dimmed with every foot I descended.

By the time I made it to the second level, I could not see at all. I scraped past the footpath directly below the one I just jumped from and kept going. My hands were slick with sweat and the rope burned my palms, but I dared not let go.

More than anything, I wanted Whit to be at the bottom to catch me in case I fell.

I pushed myself to keep going. To breathe through my fear. I wanted this part over, and I never wanted to do it again, as long as I lived.

Hand over hand.

Foot by foot.

“You’re almost done,” Papá called up softly. “Follow the sound of my voice. A few feet to go.”

At last, my boots touched the floor. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I inhaled deeply, shuddering from relief and exhaustion. By the time I stepped out of the loop, flinging it away from me as if it were a coiled snake, my entire body refused to stay upright. Papá came forward, wrapped his arm around my waist, and held me up.

“Don’t fall into the water,” he said urgently. “Lean against the wall if you have to. I need to send the rope back up for Mr. Graves.”

He released me, handing me the lantern, and I slumped against the stone. Three feet in front of me, the walkway ended abruptly, and I could see the rush of water sweep past. We waited for Mr. Graves to join us, and our procession continued with Papá once again leading the way and the odious Mr. Graves at the tail. There was no time to admire the intricately designed surroundings as they set a brisk march that nearly left me out of breath.

“Up ahead, make a right,” Mr. Graves shouted over the roar of the water.

Papá made the turn and I followed, nervous energy making me jumpy. I was unprepared for what waited for me: ten men, dressed in various dark colors from black to dour gray; they wore caps perched low over their brows, and most of their shirtsleeves were rolled up to their elbows.

“Where’s the library entrance?” Papá asked.

“Up ahead,” Mr. Graves repeated, coming to stand in front of the group. “All these men are armed with rifles or revolvers, knives and daggers. How would you like to proceed?”

“Possible to surround the site?”

Mr. Graves nodded. “There’s no exterior wall to the library, only one archway that was designated the official entrance, though you can enter from the other canal paths converging at this point. Once you’re farther inside, there are walls lined with rows and rows and rows of shelves. This stretch of area is covered by a wooden floor, but sections have decayed and broken off, revealing the water underneath. Seems a curious place for a library.”

“A desperate move,” Papá mused. Though he whispered, I could still detect the potent excitement threading his voice. “But how else to protect the marvels librarians and scholars amassed throughout millennia? Through countless fires, wars, protests? What an extraordinary undertaking to transfer the world’s wealth below ground. I suppose it must have been the Greeks who decided the extreme measure was necess—”

“Sir,” Mr. Graves murmured. “I hate to interrupt, but perhaps we ought to press on while we have the advantage?”

The men were huddled, shifting on their feet, restless.

Mr. Graves indicated one of the paths. “Two men with Mr. Sterling, if you please. I’ll remain with Miss Olivera at the middle, and the rest follow behind. I want not a sound from any of you. Understood?”

The men nodded and quietly situated themselves as directed. Papá set off, flanked by his two guards, and then Mr. Graves flicked his gun, indicated I ought to follow. I did so, conscious that he remained close, the gleam of his weapon reflecting in the glow from the lantern. To my left, the water roared, creating a humid atmosphere that felt as if I were in a steam room. My shirtsleeves clung to my damp skin.

More than once, Whit’s face popped into my mind.

I had left our room to order breakfast, never imagining that in a span of minutes, I’d be forced out of the hotel. He would be furious, desperately searching for me, and I would have given anything to hear him shout at me instead of the steady thud of our footsteps as we followed my father, a general waging war against my mother.

We had to pick our way through debris, columns tumbled to their sides, the ends falling into the water. Giant chunks of stone blocked our path, and we had to climb up and over in order to press on. Sweat slid under the collar of my shirt, and I wiped my face with my sleeve. It was undignified, but I didn’t care. It was hard to see when—

My foot caught on an overturned rock, and I stumbled into one of the men who trailed after my father. He windmilled his arms, catching his balance, and then turned to glare at me.

“Bitch,” he muttered.

A second later, his eyes widened as he pitched to the side, arms outstretched toward me, fingers grasping air before he tumbled into the water. He screamed as the river carried him away, and he waved his hands desperately, fighting to stay afloat.

“Stop,” Mr. Graves barked. He took ahold of my arm, nails digging in, and swung me around to face him. “What the hell happened?”

I gaped at him, stunned by the incident. It had happened so fast. “He fell.”

He jerked me forward, his harsh breath blowing into my face. “You pushed him.”

“No,” I said, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but his grip never slackened. I’d have bruises marking my skin from his tight hold. “I didn’t. I swear —”

“He tripped,” came a low voice from behind me. “Saw it clearly.”

I froze, my lips parting in surprise. Every word of protest died on my tongue. A tremor shook my body, and I fought to keep my wits.

That voice .

I’d heard it whispered against my skin, murmured soothingly in the dark, yelled in exasperation. I’d know it anywhere, even below ground.

“Fool,” Mr. Graves said disgustedly. He narrowed his eyes at the man behind me, but then his attention veered to the others surrounding us. “Keep going, and for God’s sake, watch where you step.”

He tugged me forward, and I tried to look over my shoulder. But I didn’t need to—I knew who had come for me.

Whitford Simon Hayes.

A wave of emotions struck me. Relief, because I wasn’t alone anymore, followed quickly by terror.

I wanted to yell at him.

I wanted to kiss him.

Since I could do neither, I stayed silent and focused, my thoughts whirring on how to get us out of here. I knew Papá would use me as leverage until he learned where Mamá had hidden away Cleopatra and the artifacts. I also knew that Mr. Fincastle had most likely brought an entire armory to serve as their defense should they be discovered.

I trembled at the thought of a gunfight erupting in such an unstable environment, surrounded by the water below and that which was coming down from the frequent spouts. Dread formed a knot deep in my belly.

Death would find me down here—I was sure of it.

We marched until we came to a tall statue of a man in billowing robes, his hand resting lightly on a three-headed dog. He had been placed in front of an ornate arch, depicting rolls of parchment. Greek letters were engraved following the curve.

“Serapis,” Papá whispered. “Astonishing.”

My father’s face was a frozen mask of triumphant joy. Only his eyes moved, flickering from one thing to another, desperately reading every inch of the entrance. But then he straightened his shoulders and looked to Mr. Graves.

“We take them by surprise,” he said. “How many are within?”

“Obviously the two of them,” Mr. Graves said. “And three workers and one guard. My impression is they hoped to keep their discovery a secret.”

“Excellent,” Papá said. “Secure the area, and Inez and I will follow.”

Mr. Graves nodded and motioned for the men to walk through. He pointed to the man behind me and said, “You I want with me.” Terror scored my heart. I felt, rather than saw, Whit’s hesitation. I knew he didn’t want to leave, but with my father’s armed men surrounding us, he would not risk me.

Finally, he brushed past me, his cap sitting low across his brow. His finger found mine for one fleeting second, hooking around my pinky for one breath. I felt his desperation, his fury in that single point of contact. He released me, and together with Mr. Graves, they walked through the arch.

“It will only be a moment,” Papá said.

I tore my gaze from Whit’s retreating back. It was then that I realized my father had a pistol pointed at me. My entire focus narrowed to the gun in his hand. That same hand had held me as a child. I lifted my eyes and met his, expecting to see some flicker of emotion. Regret, maybe. Grief. But there was neither. He looked back at me with a mixture of resignation and determination; there was nothing soft about his expression. Perhaps he knew we would always come to this moment.

A father threatening the life of his daughter.

We stared at each other for an interval of time. I didn’t dare make any sudden movement; I instinctively knew he would not hesitate to pull the trigger if I became difficult.

“Why?” I asked finally. It felt as if I’d lived several lifetimes.

“You are my leverage,” he explained. “If your mother cares more for you than her treasure, I believe you will survive this night.”

A shot rang out. Then another. And another. The sound crashed around us, louder than the Nile. My pulse thrummed in my veins, and I snapped around.

My father grasped my arm, tugging me close to his side. “Let’s see if we can stop the shooting, shall we, querida?”

Papá lodged the barrel of the gun under my chin, and we walked beneath the arch, passing more columns placed in the same checkerboard pattern. These held guttering torches, illuminating our way. Whole sections of floor were rotting under my feet. Soon, we came to a place where the spaces between the pillars were filled with shelves that held hundreds of rolls of parchment stacked on top of one another. Incredibly, my father ignored every single one, half dragging me along, the barrel pressed hard against the underside of my jaw. Because we still followed the checkerboard pattern, we passed square-shaped rooms through narrow doorways that allowed passage from one to another. The deeper we went, the walls became more sporadically placed, forming larger square rooms, and then eventually, rectangular-shaped ones. I imagined it looked like a veritable maze from up above.

“Each room is labeled by topic,” Papá breathed. “We’ve passed poetry, law, history, tragedy, and medicine. This is astonishing .”

“Not for me it isn’t,” I hissed.

“Quiet,” Papá said. “I think I hear… Yes, that’s Mr. Graves.”

“Take a left and you’ll find us,” Mr. Graves called out.

Papá pulled me into the room, the pistol’s barrel cold against my skin. Another bruise would bloom tomorrow from Papá’s constant jabbing.

Provided I lived to see tomorrow.

The scene before me was a horrifying tableau. The room had opened up considerably, and farther down, the canal came into view. Three spouts poured water, the noise thundering. It seemed to me we were on the outskirts of the library. The light coming from dozens of torches showed everyone clearly.

Three Egyptian workers sat on the floor with one of my father’s men guarding them with a rifle in his hands. There was one man who had been shot in the head. He lay sprawled on the floor, his blood staining the wood.

He must have been the guard Mr. Graves had mentioned.

The rest of my father’s men had their weapons trained on two people, standing side by side. Mamá and Mr. Fincastle. A pile of knives, two pistols, grenades, dynamite sticks, and a rifle with a leather strap lay in front of his feet. I spotted Whit, still in disguise, directing a look of fury at Papá. It chilled my blood. He would risk his life to save mine. Fight tooth and nail, despite his recent near-death experience.

Slowly, I let my gaze fall on the one person I had been searching for ever since she had left me standing on the banks of Philae.

Mamá.

WHIT

The bloody idiot had brought dynamite down here. No, not just dynamite, but also grenades. I wanted to run toward Inez, but I forced myself to stay still, the gun steady in my hands. The men flanking me were restless, sweat dripping down their faces.

Nervous.

Painful memories pushed their way into my mind. Friends who had been just as nervous the moment before the first shot had been fired.

How the hell were we going to get out of this alive?

I was going to throttle my wife when this was over. Right after I kissed her senseless. If we made it out alive, I was never going to let her out of my sight.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Lourdes shifting her feet, and my attention flicked over to her. She met my gaze coolly. A sudden tension in her jaw revealed that she had recognized me. She dropped her gaze to the grenades and then flicked her eyes back to mine.

I gave her an imperceptible shake of my head. We were surrounded by water, the ground was rotting beneath my boots, and any blast would topple the columns.

It was ludicrous to consider it.

Then Mr. Sterling spoke, yanking Inez forward, his weapon lodged underneath her delicate chin. Anger burned through my body, as if I were lit from within, an inferno moments before an explosion. My hands shook from it.

Inez looked between me and Lourdes, unerringly seeing past my disguise—cap low on my head and a jacket that didn’t fit properly. My wife would know me anywhere.

And in the second our eyes met, I could see everything she couldn’t say out loud.

Fear for my life. Hope that we would survive the night. Trust that I’d stay by her side, no matter what happened. Love for me.

My hands stopped shaking, my entire being focused on one thing: I would not let her die. I would burn the world twice over to save her life.