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

Capítulo Veintiocho

CAPíTULO VEINTIOCHO

TWO WEEKS LATER

Soft candlelight illuminated the dining table, which was laden with trays of expertly cooked, roasted, and braised meat and vegetables. Several bottles of wine had been opened and poured into thin-stemmed glasses. Satisfaction thrummed in every corner of my body. Seated around the table were the people I cared most about in the world, tucked away in a private room at Shepheard’s.

Whit was on my left, his hand on my thigh underneath the snow-white tablecloth. At the opposite end of the table sat Porter next to his younger sister, Arabella. Whit had invited them for a visit, and much to his surprise, they arrived sooner than he’d expected and with several trunks in tow. Evidently, they were here for an extended visit, even going so far as renting a home near the hotel.

Arabella had won me over from the first. She had thrown her arms around me and thanked me profusely for turning Whit into a cat person. Within five minutes of conversation, we were talking about our favorite works of art, and she showed me a journal stuffed full of her gorgeous watercolors. She had a rare talent, my newest little sister.

I watched her discreetly from the corner of my eye as she took sips of wine from Porter’s glass, her auburn hair shining like polished amber in the candlelight. Porter finally caught on to her antics and glared at Arabella, and I bit back a laugh when she dimpled back at him. But then her attention drifted to the handsome man to her right, and a deep blush bloomed in her cheeks. Whit’s friend, Leo, didn’t notice, but he’d curiously avoided meeting her eyes since he had sat down at the start of the dinner.

I got the distinct impression that he was actively trying to ignore her.

How fascinating. I wonder if—

“Don’t even think about it,” Whit muttered, following my line of sight. “He’s too old for her.”

“Not that old,” I whispered with a wink.

He pinched my thigh, and I threw my napkin in his face. Across from me, Tío Ricardo and Tía Lorena argued in Spanish about his penchant for cigars.

“You are always surrounded by a plume of smoke,” she complained. “Do you realize that in order to have a simple conversation with you—of course, no conversation with you is ever simple; why is that?—I must prepare myself for my hair and my clothes to stink of your deplorable habit?”

My uncle glowered at her. “Se?ora, a possible solution is not to engage me in conversation in the first place. How’s that for simple?”

I smiled to myself, my attention flickering to Abdullah. Farida was piling his plate high with food. “No more,” he protested weakly. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“The roasted eggplant looks delicious,” Farida said with a broad smile. “I insist.”

“Well, if you insist,” Abdullah grumbled. “I’d love more bread—”

“How about the tahini?” she said, her smile still fixed. “Vegetables first?”

Abdullah sighed, but then he chuckled fondly. Farida picked up her camera sitting at her elbow and snapped a photo of him smiling. Amaranta leaned close to her, asking, “May I take the next?”

Farida nodded, handing it over to her. “Take one of what you’re going to be eating.”

“My food?” Amaranta wrinkled her nose, looking down at her full plate. “Who would be interested in seeing that?”

“Some people would,” Farida said, laughing. “Or no one, but it’s a great subject to practice on. It won’t suddenly sprout legs and move off the table.”

The two had become good friends during their daily visits to the prison to check on Abdullah and Tío Ricardo. Amaranta held the camera in her hands and snapped a photo. Then she glanced in my direction, shifted the camera, and quickly took one of me.

“I wasn’t ready,” I protested.

“I know,” Amaranta said coolly. “It will surely be the most unflattering image captured of you.”

Whit let out a huff of laughter while I glared at my cousin from across the table. I contemplated throwing my glass at her, but it would be a waste of perfectly good wine. I sighed and picked up my fork instead, eager to enjoy this last meal with everyone before we all dispersed in different directions.

“Mr. Whit!” Kareem exclaimed.

My husband turned in his chair to face Kareem where he sat on his other side. “Yes?”

“Abdullah bought me three jars of honey,” he said.

“So, he bribed you,” Whit said, laughing. “Did he say that you could never eat the honey found in any tombs?”

Kareem nodded sagely. “I must not consume ancient relics.”

“A wonderful motto to live by,” Whit said, just as sagely.

Kareem frowned. “What’s a motto?”

“It’s an Italian word meaning—” Porter began.

The door opened, and I opened my mouth to order another bottle of wine, but it was not our server. Monsieur Maspero came in, led by a waiter. At the sight of all of us gathered, he flushed. I didn’t have to examine each person closely to know that none of us looked particularly friendly or inviting.

“Oh,” he said. “Pardon. I didn’t realize—”

“What do you want, sir?” I asked coldly. I would never forgive him for what he’d allowed to happen to my uncle and Abdullah.

He shook his head, cheeks red. “Pardon my interruption. I can see that this is a family”—he broke off, brow furrowing in bemusement at Kareem’s cheeky smile—“a family event. I only came by to let you know what has happened with the Lourdes affair.”

A sudden quiet enveloped us. No more forks and knives clattering against plates, no more soft chatter or the sound of Farida’s camera clicking. Whit’s hand tightened on my thigh.

I inhaled deeply, nerves flittering deep in my belly, and said to the waiter, “Please bring an extra chair.”

Monsieur Maspero stood awkwardly by the table, hands tucked deep into his pockets, as the seat was brought in and placed next to Abdullah.

“Lourdes has given up the location of Cleopatra and the cache entombed with her,” Monsieur Maspero began. My eyes flicked directly to Abdullah’s face. Dismay was etched in every groove across his brow. “She made a deal with Sir Evelyn and has since been removed from prison and placed under house arrest, where she will remain for the rest of her life.”

Whit tensed, gripping the handle of his knife. “And how long will that last before she manages to escape?”

“There will be plenty of guards,” Monsieur Maspero said defensively.

“As if she won’t be able to bribe them,” Tío Ricardo said dismissively. “My sister is a master manipulator and could charm a tree.”

“Perhaps a return to prison is in order,” Abdullah added. “There aren’t so many entry points or opportunities to engage her guards in conversation.”

“I tried,” Monsieur Maspero admitted. “But Sir Evelyn insisted the lady have her comforts after revealing what she knew. But do not worry—I will do everything in my power to make sure an escape is impossible.”

Next to me, Whit seethed in silence. Since my mother’s arrest, we had had long conversations about everything that had happened since the day we met—and about long-kept secrets, his role under my uncle’s employment. I knew he was thinking of when he’d overhead Sir Evelyn hiring a spy to observe my uncle’s and Abdullah’s movements. Up until now, we had narrowed it down to who he might have used.

It might have been my father, acting as Mr. Basil Sterling, or Mr. Fincastle in partnership with my own mother. With Sir Evelyn helping Mamá now, it was clear that he had some understanding with my mother and her lover prior to her arrest. They very well could have approached him with their idea to take the excavation site from my uncle and Abdullah. Or maybe it was Sir Evelyn’s plan all along.

We’d never know for sure. What we did know is that Sir Evelyn now had access to one of the greatest historical finds in this century. One look at Whit’s grim expression told me that he had come to the same conclusion.

“You must know that Sir Evelyn could have been working with Lourdes and her lover all along,” Whit snarled. “Mr. Fincastle would have needed the manpower to overtake the excavation site!”

“The site not reported to the antiquities department?” Monsieur Maspero countered. “Come, come. This all ended for the best, I think. The artifacts are where they ought to be—in proper hands—and you’re fortunate that Lourdes has taken full responsibility for the theft.”

“ What? ” Ricardo asked.

Monsieur Maspero nodded. “She confessed it was her idea for the lack of transparency on where the team decided to dig. She insisted I release you and your associate.” He splayed his hands. “And so I did, and now I have come to issue an apology for your arrest.”

My uncle snapped his mouth shut.

“And for how they were treated?” Farida asked in a steely voice.

“Oui, ah, an unfortunate accident,” Monsieur Maspero muttered. “I will endeavor to look into the matter and conduct a full investigation.”

“There’s no need,” Abdullah said in a silky voice. “Perhaps a firman to excavate wherever we’d like next season?”

Monsieur Maspero’s lips twitched. “I believe that might be possible.” Then he pushed back his chair and stood. “Thank you for giving me a moment of your time during your dinner party. Out of curiosity, what is the occasion?”

“It is a farewell dinner,” Tía Lourdes said. “We depart for Argentina tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, then bon voyage,” Monsieur Maspero said, and then he turned to look at me. “Egypt will be losing quite a jewel, mademoiselle. I hope that you will return one day?”

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” I said cheerfully.

Whit made a circle with his thumb against my thigh. “We’re staying in Egypt to work alongside Ricardo and Abdullah.” He shot me a fond look, and I leaned my head against his shoulder.

“I’ll be paying you a visit after our honeymoon to secure next year’s firman,” I said. “I believe we have our sights set on the pyramids.”

Monsieur Maspero blanched, and I laughed in his face.

WHIT

Early morning light shone onto the surface of my worktable. Outside one of the many windows of my laboratory, the Nile River stretched for miles, feluccas and dahabeeyahs bobbing in its waters. Dimly, I heard Inez outside in the garden, calling for our recalcitrant cats, Archimedes and Memphis. They hated being told what to do.

Exactly like my wife.

I forced myself to pay attention to Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia as I stared at the Ouroboros, the snake continuously consuming and regenerating itself. Next to the sheet were stacks of chemistry books and older texts from alchemists who lived before me, attempting to achieve the impossible.

But that was the magic of alchemy. The transforming of one thing into another.

Copper into silver.

Lead into gold.

But right then, I was practicing the basic principles of alchemy on a common herb. I recited the three philosophical essentials to myself under my breath.

Sulfur (oil). Mercury (liquor). Salt (alkali).

Also known by what they represent: Sulfur, the soul. Mercury, the spirit. Salt, the body.

I swept the basil Inez had harvested from our garden earlier in the morning into a shallow dish, clearing up the area to complete the three main steps. First, separate, then purify, and finally combine these essentials to create a new harmonic substance.

If done right, I could apply this process to lead and, theoretically, create gold.

I stared at the flask where I had placed a handful of finely chopped fresh basil with half a cup of water to make a paste. Carefully, I added steam, watching as the scalding vapors rose into the condenser. A layer of oil formed on the surface of the water, the material principle of sulfur, otherwise known as the soul of the plant.

First separation done.

Now the plant had to ferment, which would take several long hours. Inez’s laugh drifted into the room from the open window. She was still out in the garden, trying to find the damned cats. I smiled to myself as I left my makeshift lab.

I knew exactly how I wanted to pass the time.

It was the middle of the night and I was back in the lab. I’d left Inez sleeping, hating to leave our bed, but my gut was telling me that I was close to understanding Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia. As planned, the basil had fermented, or as an actual alchemist would say, the plant had died. It no longer had a life force to speak of. I distilled the watery mush until it eventually turned into alcohol, revealing the spirit of the plant.

The separations of the essentials were complete.

Onward to the last step—purification. I took the basil, drying it fully with a cloth to rid it of excess moisture, before setting it on fire, resulting in a gray ash. I smiled to myself, hands shaking with excitement. This was better than a full flask of my favorite whiskey. I carefully dumped the ash back into the flask of water, where it immediately dissolved after a brisk stir. From there, I filtered the liquid, where it would evaporate into a crystalized white salt.

The body of the plant.

I only had to recombine, or resurrect, the essentials in order to finish the process. Later, I would transfer the salt into an apothecary glass and pour the sulfur inside, followed by the mercury.

It would be my first elixir.

My attention drifted to the lead on my worktable. I would have to follow the same principles, the same steps, in order to transform the lead into gold. I walked to Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia, memorizing it fully, and as morning light filtered into the room, I began the noble art.

My eyes dropped to the tiny sliver of gold on the round dish, glimmering in the sunlight.

I’d done the impossible.

Did it mean I was an alchemist? I shook my head, feeling delirious, wondering how I was going to tell my wife that I could make back the fortune I had taken from her. The alchemical sheet sat in front of me, and I peered at it for the last time. I knew every line, every drawing, and every symbol by heart.

Now that I did, I had to figure out what to do with it. I would never keep something this precious, this volatile , in my life with Inez. Cleopatra’s Chrysopoeia deserved to be protected, kept safe and far away from the people who might use it for ill.

There was only one person I knew who would know what to do with the sheet.

“Whit?” Inez said, opening the door while knocking against it softly. She carried Memphis in her other arm, and he looked indignantly at his means of transportation. “Are you all right?”

I looked up, blinking, disoriented. “I’m fine?”

She walked into the room, peering curiously at the table laden with flasks and glass bottles, my favorite books on chemistry, and stacks of papers filled with dozens of scribblings I’d made while working. She had tucked a white rose in her hair and the sweet fragrance drifted toward me as I smiled down at her. I had planted several rosebushes for her in our garden, and since then, I could count on finding flowers in unexpected places throughout our house. Hidden in the pages of my favorite book, slipped into a picture frame, or placed prettily on our dinner plates. Memphis went to swipe at a beaker, but Inez pivoted in time, preventing disaster.

“No, no, my darling,” she cooed. “We mustn’t destroy Lord Somerset’s experiments.”

“ Lord —”

“You’ve been spending all of your free time in this room for two days,” Inez interrupted. “I didn’t think you’d work this much during our honeymoon.” She wrinkled her brow, nose delicately sniffing. “It smells strange. What have you been doing?”

I stood up, swaying slightly and feeling weirdly light-headed. I had made gold. Gold . She looked at me in alarm, but I grinned at her as I pulled her close, kissing her cheek, her temple, her hair. The rose petals pleasantly tickled my nose. “Let’s have breakfast, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“It’s dinnertime,” she corrected mildly.

“Dinner, then,” I said. I bent forward, tucking my arm under her knees, and scooped up my wife—and the damn cat—into my arms. She squealed as I carried her out of the lab while Memphis leapt out of her grasp with an impatient hiss. “Can we invite Abdullah to eat with us? I have something that belongs to him. We are going to celebrate.”

“Yes, I’ll send a note with Kareem.” Inez raised her brows. “What are we celebrating?”

I leaned down and kissed her, once, twice, three times, before whispering against her mouth, “The rest of our lives.”