by Anna Butler
“We also,” Archambault agreed. “It is something most inconceivable.”
“Here, Miss Lancaster.” Theo passed the map on to Nell so she could see it first. “I know you’re interested in archaeology.”
Well, I had always thought Theo was nicer than me. I pulled an apologetic grimace at Nell and received a queenly little nod in return that I chose to take as forgiveness. Theo, however, was rewarded with a beaming smile, which, if his expression was anything to go by, seemed to fill his day to the brim with joy.
Nell looked up from her perusal of the papers. “It’s a bird! This bit of the map looks like a bird.” Her tone took on an edge of doubt. “An ibis?”
Theo examined the chart she handed to him, and his face scrunched into a frown. “Here?” At her nod, the frown deepened and he said, his tone one of deep apology, “I’m afraid it looks more like a door handle to me.”
The man had the imagination of one, obviously. It was evidence, if I needed it, that admirable as Theo Winter undoubtedly was, he was indeed an accountant at heart. Above his head, as he bowed it to re-examine the map, Nell’s steely gaze met mine. I held my tongue.
“A plateau in the Highlands, one of thousands in those hills, where the land is cut into gorges by tributaries feeding the Blue Nile.” Causton dipped his head, and the deviltry in his grin was more marked. “Hmmph. Yes. Well spotted, Miss Lancaster. The shape is unmistakable when you know what you’re looking for.”
Archambault took his sketchpad—it was never far from his hand—and drew it for us. An oval for the head. A flaring thin promontory running from it, thick at the head end and narrowing to a point, jutting out from the smooth circle in a wide arc to make the curved beak. The back of the head curved around into the top of a neck—that of a real ibis would be long and sinuous, but this was cut short, with a blunt end. An odd, intense collection of closely drawn squarish Schiehallion lines. An outcrop of rock large enough the mapmaker charted it? Whatever it was, it sat smack bang where the eye would be. As Tom Causton said, the shape was unmistakable.
Somewhere out in the Highlands of Abyssinia, Ned had gone hunting for a plateau in the shape of the head of Thoth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For a biggish, hearty Germanic type, Friedrich Lansbach became remarkably small as he shrank into himself in his chair. His plate of koshari was untouched before him, and the hand with which he replaced his fork onto the table shook like an old man’s.
We were sharing a hasty meal, an early luncheon to compensate for breakfast having been so many hours prior I couldn’t remember it. Not everyone was there, because perceptive old Archambault had chivvied Nell away to join her mother and was settling them into their quarters, giving us the opportunity for real discussion. Nell had cast an imploring glance at me over her shoulder, but Archambault stood firm. The rest of us sat inside the largest tent, serving as the expedition’s communal dining and living room, while Whelan and Tatlock shared guard duty outside.
“Friedrich?” I said.
Lansbach had the haggard, lined face of a man twenty years his senior, his mouth pulled down and making the line of his jaw and chin droop. Two sharp indentations ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth, giving him a bad-tempered air when all he felt, I was certain, was sorrow and shame. He looked ill. “Leo went south three weeks ago, on 7th December. A steam launch came and carried him upriver. He took two of the team with him. I do not know who else was on board. He would not tell me where he was going, just that he had business to conduct for our people back home. He said it was nothing to do with our dig, which was where I should continue to put my efforts.” He flushed, the reddening over his cheekbones shading down into his full beard. “You will not know of Leo’s circumstances—”
“I know enough to understand he must be something of an outsider, seeking to prove himself, given his birth was irregular.” I glanced from him to Reitz, who sat with a friendly, open expression on his face. Reitz was tapping his right forefinger on his knee. Not as much at his ease as he pretended, then.
Lansbach’s smile was sad. “Ja. You do understand. He is not acknowledged by his mother’s family. His great-grandfather allowed him an education, but since the old man’s death Leo is not welcome in Saxe-Altenfeld. He is not considered true family—his own mother repudiated him. And though I and others have welcomed him at the Berlin Institute, we are only poor professors and we have nothing of the influence he seeks. It burns at him, I think.”
I was luckier than Leo, it seemed. “In consequence, we can conclude that he’s working for your government in some covert fashion, in the hope it will gain him acceptance and recognition.”
“I believe it possible, ja.” If Lansbach had shrunk in on himself much further, he would have imploded. “I have heard nothing from Leo since he left. Günter appeared yesterday evening, and from him I learned of Ned’s journey south. I made no connection between Ned and Leo until then.” He spread his hands. “Now I do not know what to think.”
Which wasn’t strictly true, as I knew from the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He knew his prize pupil’s business and Ned’s wellbeing were in conflict. But none of this was Lansbach’s fault. I made my tone as warm as I could manage. “Thank you, Friedrich. You’ve confirmed information I already had, and that’s helpful.” I turned to Günter Reitz. “I’d be interested to know how you were drawn into this and how you were able to tell Friedrich that Ned had gone south.”
Günter Reitz grimaced. He hesitated. For an instant I had the sense he was weighing what he had heard, perhaps debating what to say. “I was contacted on the Marconi late yesterday afternoon by the Kaiser’s representative in Cairo, Von Meiningen. This was, I must tell you, a surprising event. He told me three things of great interest. First, Ned travelled south into Abyssinia before Christmas in search of a treasure of immense consequence to the Kaiser, but had not returned as expected. Second, Altenfeld had been sent in pursuit by someone in the Stadtschloss—Von Meiningen said he did not know whom, so not the usual channels. And third, the British Imperium was sending you, Lancaster, to locate Ned.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “The ambassador was astonishingly forthcoming.”
“He knew of my long friendship with Ned. He said that gave me an advantage he did not possess. I was told to offer you every assistance in the guise of doing so for Ned’s sake, but my real task would be to report back to him what I learn of your plans.” He grimaced again. “And anything I learned of Altenfeld’s.”
The old saw about a silence a man could cut with a knife? Not just a literary conceit. The silence that met Reitz’s explanation could cut right back at us.
I said nothing to break it. Everyone else looked between Reitz and me and kept quiet, although Theo’s mouth tightened and Causton’s fell open.
“You knew of this?” Reitz gave me a sharp look. “Of the ambassador, and Altenfeld?”
I pushed away my plate. The koshari had lost its usual piquancy. “Yes. This is quite forthcoming on your part, too. Please go on.”
When it became clear I had no intention of elaborating, Reitz resumed his explanation. He smoothed away the frown between his eyes the instant he realised I was watching him. “I came downriver to Antinoë to find what I could about Altenfeld. I told Lansbach what the ambassador had told me, but he could add nothing. We are here seeking enlightenment.” He waited. Then made a tchting noise when I made no effort to provide that commodity. “It is obvious that Altenfeld is not in the pay of the ambassador. There are factions within factions at the Stadtschloss, but someone there puts great importance on Hermopolis and what Ned might find. What in hell is so important that they would chase after Ned in this way?”
The others all looked anywhere other than at Reitz and each other, and shuffled in their seats. Good Lord. They should all have been swathed in dark cloaks, twirling moustaches and whispering “I’m conspiratorial and positively shifty” to each other. It was so obvious they weren’t Stravaigors.
Reitz’s grin could hav
e cut through steel rods. “What treasure is the Kaiser looking for?”
At that point, everyone decided to look at me. For Caesar’s sake, was I the man in charge or something?
I scowled back at them. “Ned was intrigued by the possible link between this place and an odd device the Greeks salvaged from a shipwreck.”
Reitz’s grin was so fixed in place for a moment, his face had to hurt. Then he laughed, the full-throated hearty guffaw of his that I’d noted once before. An unmistakable sound, so Teutonic in timbre it probably quaffed steins of light beer for breakfast and lived on sausage and pickled cabbage. “Not the piece of rust in the Athens museum that Valerios Stais hawked around any archaeologist who would listen to him? Ned was fooled by that?”
“So was the Kaiser, it seems. Not to mention all those other archaeologists who wanted Hermopolis.”
It didn’t stop him laughing, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Less surprising since the emperor has a passion for the mystical. He has a great desire to see God, provided God appears in his own image. He searches always for… what is the word I want? A talisman. Perhaps Stais sent the information to someone who persuaded the Stadtschloss the find would be such a talisman. But why Hermopolis?”
“The Antikythera find was inscribed with the name of Thoth.”
That stopped Reitz in mid-snort. “Ah. Ich verstehe. That explains everyone’s interest in this site. How did the Stadtschloss learn Ned went south?”
“Ned was vague about his plans when he spoke to us, scrupulously so. With so many links in the Marconi chain, he was reluctant to give too much away. He expected conversations to be monitored.” I favoured Reitz with a thin smile. “If your people were spying on him, I doubt they would have gleaned enough information about his destination that way.”
“They are not my people.”
“They certainly aren’t mine.”
Reitz grunted, but let this pass. “Von Meiningen told me Ned was heading into the Abyssinian Highlands. I assume that is where he has gone? Ja?”
He inclined his head at my nod.
“The maps. Ned sent to Cairo for maps.” Theo glowered at Reitz. “It’s the only thing I can think of, since Ned was so careful not to say anything over the Marconi.”
“The Khedive’s office sent the maps,” Causton said.
“There you are, then.” Reitz was so smug, I pushed my hands into my pockets to control the itch to smack him. “Every country in the world has its informers inside the Khedive’s palace.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Instead of wasting time peering at tomb paintings and Ned’s diagrams and notes to work out where Ned was, I should have just asked the German ambassador. Or the Pasha. “The Abyssinian Highlands cover hundreds of square miles. I wish them luck pinning down Ned’s location.”
Theo relaxed visibly. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“More precise information could be had in other ways. Altenfeld might have had a spy amongst your own workers who told him of your doings.” Reitz gave me a tight-lipped smile. “It is what I would do.”
Would he, indeed. And more to the point, had he?
“We pay by the day,” Causton said. “That allows the workers in the area to shift between digs, gives them great freedom of movement. It’s quite possible one was being paid to spy on us, although since none of them can get past the security fence—” He stopped short, his eyes widening, but recovered himself immediately. “At the least, someone could have told Altenfeld when Ned left.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” I had my watch chain fastened to my belt, and it took a second or two of bodily contortion to extract the timepiece from my trouser pocket and check the time. The minute hand crawled towards noon. “And we need to leave soon if we’re going to reach Aswan before dark.”
When I turned to Reitz, he smiled.
I didn’t hesitate to challenge him. “What do you want, Reitz? I don’t get the impression you’re eager to do your ambassador’s bidding.”
He pulled a gargoyle’s face. “Another Prussian. I hate Prussians.”
“This isn’t a moment for you to sing all the verses to the ‘Deutschlandlied’? I believe you once told me that all patriotic Germans knew it.”
The gargoyle’s face contorted further. “I have a great deal of respect for Ned Winter. We have been friends for years. The Stadtschloss’s preoccupation with mysticism is folly.” He rubbed his hands together, making an unpleasant hacking noise as he cleared his throat. “I would help, if I can. I can use a pistol and hit what I aim for. I am both German and an archaeologist. Those attributes you may need.” He tried for his usual sardonic smile. “Besides, I want to know more about this talisman of Thoth that appears to interest the entire world. It sounds fascinating. I can perhaps help with deciphering the mystery. I was trained by Raoul Archambault in philology and reading hieroglyphs. I may be of use on this journey.”
“I suppose you may.”
When I glanced at Theo, he did this odd thing with his eyebrows I interpreted as Up to you, but I wouldn’t want to leave a potential ally… agent… not-sure-what-he-is-but-I-don’t-entirely-trust-him behind us where he can follow us at his leisure and we can’t keep an eye on him. Not with what we may be walking into.
Or perhaps I projected my own thoughts onto Theo’s eyebrows.
I stood and shrugged into my jacket. “We leave within the hour. I’ll make up my mind before then. If I decide in your favour, Reitz, be warned that we have a great many House guards with us and I will deal harshly with anyone who gets in the way.”
Reitz inclined his head in a jerky nod. “I understand.”
I was sure he did. If nothing else, Tatlock’s unprepossessing visage would help convince him. Tatlock liked nothing better than a little harsh dealing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Overseeing the preparations to leave gave me the chance to speak to Tom Causton. “Is it possible you have a spy in the camp, Tom? It seemed to me a thought struck you when Reitz suggested it.”
We had abandoned our German friends, leaving them with Baumann, and had returned to Ned’s tent. I’d decided we’d take the tin trunk and its contents with us, including all the diagrams and maps. Archambault copied the hand-drawn pages with swift, sure strokes of his pencil and Causton undertook to obtain a new set of maps from Cairo to replace the ones I had appropriated. While I wasn’t anticipating the rescue party needing a rescue in its turn, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. Not in view of the German interest. Between them, Causton and Archambault would recreate Ned’s research in case it was needed by whatever reinforcements the Gallowglass might send.
“None of the workers can cross Sam Hawkins’s security cordon.” Causton closed his right hand about his upper left arm, where the metallic security bracelet clung to the muscle. “Not without one of these. But I remembered the cook has one and not long after Ned left, he took leave to return to his village. A family emergency.”
“Is he back?”
“No. We’ve been doing our own cooking, supplemented by meals sent in from the local village.”
I frowned at the map of the Highlands containing the Thoth plateau. “Coincidences make me uneasy. I suspect you’re on the right track.”
“It’s difficult to know what he could steal, if he’s the rotten apple in our barrel.” Causton gestured to the papers. “It’s a lot of information, and Ned was careful to omit any major identifiers on a sketch. Anyone looking at this wouldn’t know at a glance where any of the possibilities are. The maps cover the entire course of the Blue Nile. They can’t know Ned’s actual destination.”
“Given what we’ve already discovered about Altenfeld and the Berlin connection, I don’t find that comforting. I’d like to know more about the missing cook.” I bent over the map again. “Such as whether the man could read English or copy a drawing.”
Archambault could be a morose old beggar. “You do not need artistic training to make a copy of line sketches.”
Theo breathed out, noisily. He jabbed a forefinger into the pile of parchments. “Damn. Could anyone work out the possible locations, based on these?”
“If the spy could see which map and sketch were paired, then they can work from that.” I fluttered the parchment I’d been studying. “They can do what I’m doing, correlate a sketch against the real thing and determine the coordinates, although it might take them some time to check an entire OS map. The Thoth plateau is at Latitude 12.681655, Longitude 36.472667, by the way. And even if all the spy has is a few stolen line drawings and a list of everything Ned ordered through the Khedive, they’ll parse it eventually by process of elimination.”
“Then we must hope they explore every other possibility first.” Theo’s mouth turned down at the corners.
“I wouldn’t wager much on it.”
“Nor me.” Causton grimaced. “That’s still a good half-dozen prospects to investigate, even if Altenfeld’s able to work out the coordinates of each site. I wish we could be sure what information has been passed to him. I’ll have a word with our reis. He’s a good foreman, and he knows the men well. If he has anything useful on the cook, I’ll pass it on.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
When he’d gone to hunt out the reis, I inked the map reference coordinates onto the Thoth plateau sketch, folded the parchment, and put it into the inside pocket of my linen jacket, where no one could get at it.
Theo watched me, his young face expressionless, but he nodded when our gazes met. He took the Ordnance sheet from me and refolded it with such precision it looked new, as if it had come straight from the stationer’s shelf. He laid it beside the open tin trunk, before glancing at Archambault. “I’m sorry to deprive you of your tomb paintings, sir. They’re works of art.”
“I am not concerned about them.” Archambault copied Ned’s cryptic notes onto the back of the relevant diagram in fine copperplate. “I can do more. And I will send to Cairo for replacement maps.”
