Theo was a little taken aback by the question. “Well, yes,” she said. “This is what it’s all about, isn’t it? History. Helping people come face-to-face with the past.”
“The past, yes. But Dr. Van Allen wasn’t talking up the past so much as he was talking up that mummy. Bile fascination for a corpse.” Adler’s eyes darkened. He looked at Theo as if he was asking her for help. “It’s not right, Miss Speer.”
“That’s not it,” Theo said bluntly. She probably should have been a little more diplomatic, but he was asking her to say that their work wasn’t worth anything. Never in a million years. “It’s true we’re excited about the mummy. And Dr. Van Allen talked it up to the donors because, frankly, there are some in that crowd who do come here to look at dead bodies.” Or naked statues—the upstairs bronzes tended to get their glazes rubbed off in some very specific places. “But I have friends in Production, you know? They’re working with a forensic artist to reconstruct what Number Three here would have looked like in real life. The guys in Interactives aren’t just making a copy of the tomb, they’re building a scale model of the riverboats those fishermen I painted would have been rowing. Number Three wanted to live forever, and if we do our work right, we can help it do that. We can take people out of”—she flung out a hand, pointing to the flat, white-painted walls and the sheer glass and the security camera blinking endlessly—“all this. Bring its world back, just for a little bit. Help us remember. We shouldn’t forget where we came from, or we might not know where we’re going.”
Mr. Adler cocked his head, studying her. Theo could feel an instinctive blush rising again, but she met his gaze and studied him in turn. Some of the lines in the corners of his eyes and mouth smoothed out as the tension left him, and the sharp lines of his face softened a little as he looked at her.
“You really believe that,” he said. It didn’t sound skeptical or insulting—oh, you’ve got to be kidding me; that sounds so stupid—an attitude that occasionally reared its ugly head. His voice was quiet.
“I do,” she said. “It’s important work.”
“But do you think it’s the wisest thing to do?” he said. His eyes turned back to the still form of THS203, lying there in his climate-controlled cabinet, with his frail arms crossed over his brittle, brown chest. “One of the risks of the past is that people romanticize it. Curses, monsters, bloody battles, star-crossed lovers—that sort of thing. That’s what they want to see, not potsherds and shabtis.”
“And they get it,” Theo said quietly. “A lot of history isn’t much different from that. There really were battles, dangerous plans and star-crossed lovers. And because there were, we owe it to them to be honest about what happened.” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “If we don’t, then what’s the point?”
“But that’s not all there was,” Adler interjected. “And when people see all of that, they become convinced the past was a theme-park ride. Do you think you can show the lovers and the planners accurately, Miss Speer? Can you bring them back to life?”
She studied the man’s profile as she turned over his words in her mind. The fluorescents of the lab were harsh on his colors, bleaching the remaining warmth out of his skin and casting blue-gray shadows along the sharp lines of his jaw. It reminded her of a course she had once taken in sumi-e ink painting. He was watered shades of black. For a moment she wanted to touch him, wondering if he would feel like skin or paper under her fingers.
He clearly didn’t like the mummy in front of him, but the art department was relying on him and his money, and he’d delivered. And now he wanted to know: Was it worth it? Were they doing good work? Or did they just perpetuate stories for entertainment? Oh, they were real stories, no doubt about that, but did they do any good?
“I’m going to tell the truth,” Theo said finally. “I think that’s all we can ever really do. There’s so much we still don’t know, after all. But we can try.” She shivered a little and told herself it was just the cold of the prep lab.
“That’s a good answer,” Mr. Adler said. He threw another glance at THS203. “Are you listening?”
“God, I hope not,” Theo said with a grin. Some of the tension began to bleed out of the room. “If it finds out what some of the lab boys call it, it’ll be out for blood.”
“I don’t know about that. Mummies aren’t like what they are in the movies, you know.”
“But you still don’t like them?”
“Just because I’m not afraid of being murdered by something doesn’t mean I’m obliged to like it.”
Theo watched him, wondering about his choice of words. She’d never said he was afraid, but maybe he’d been thinking it anyway. Whatever he was thinking, though, it was clear that THS203 with his sad smile wasn’t going to be a happy topic of conversation. “Well then,” she said, “the good news is that we have plenty of other things to see. How do you feel about taxidermy? They should be prepping some large snakes tonight.”
“Hmm. Watching animals being skinned is more of a before-dinner activity, I think.”
It was a strange thing to say, but the way he delivered the words—completely deadpan, as if he were discussing a matter of national security—coupled with that strange little quirk-of-the-mouth smile, made Theo’s stomach do an odd little flip. Stupid nerves! This was definitely more of an Aki gig.
“In that case, how about we go…” she picked a direction at random and pointed “…back that way. Prep A and B are taking care of some shabtis from Number Three’s cache, and some of them are absolutely beautiful.”
He nodded to her. “I always have time for beautiful things. Lead the way, Miss Speer.”
Chapter Three
The friendship of a scribe is not to be discarded lightly, I think. For it is they who will write my prayers when I am gone, and I do not want to die forever for the sake of a careless slip of a pen.
~Excerpt from the Wilkinson Texts, circa 1000 BCE (fragment)
Two weeks after the party, Theo’s usual alarm rang at 7:00 a.m. The DJ rattled off the headlines (liquor store robbery on the South Side, break-in and vandalism at the University of Chicago, mysterious mold found in organic yogurt at a Gold Coast Trader Joe’s) as Theo crawled out of her cocoon of blankets. The light leaking in through the cracks in the blinds was dim, with a dirty tinge to it that told her the orange streetlights outside weren’t off yet. Cold leached into the room through the windowpane. The sky was Sheetrock gray, with clouds barely a shade lighter.
Outside, though, Chicago was already awake. Peering through the crack again, Theo could see the streets of the South Loop alive with movement. A mix of Priuses, BMWs and oversized luxury Hummers already crowded the intersections, and a brisk flow of pedestrians wrapped up in colorful coats stumbled forward against the cold wind, like an invasion of the surprisingly fashionable undead. Somebody was selling hot coffee and bagels off a cart in front of the antique store, clearly irritating the people running the store itself, but doing brisk business nonetheless. Even if the calendar hadn’t explained it, the rush in the street would have clued her in: Black Friday.
Theo was not a Black Friday shopper. Mr. and Mrs. Speer typically spent the winter someplace warm, and most of the family holiday correspondence consisted of letters naming the various charitable donations that had been made in each other’s names. Living on the edge of the Loop, though, one could barely ignore it, and Theo observed with interest as the shoppers scurried to and fro.
Scene: a woman stopped outside a bookstore to stuff her purchases into a backpack. Her clothes were expensive, but the backpack was a ragged old relic with half a dozen neatly mended tears in it. Probably an old favorite from her less affluent days. Sense and thrift.
Scene: a couple arguing with a policeman. They were apparently taking issue with the parking ticket the cop was putting on their car’s hood, but the cop wasn’t budging. Extra rules were in place during the hol
iday rush. Impatience and conflict.
Scene: a short, slender man, juggling a broad, sail-like portfolio and a cardboard tray with two steaming coffee cups. His shaggy, black hair had clearly been gelled within an inch of its life before he left the house, but the cold wind and sprays of sleet had ruined whatever style he’d been trying to achieve and had turned it into an awkward hedgehog-like mullet. The straight, regular city blocks were as good as wind tunnels, and the man didn’t have the strength or body size to resist the force of it. He stumbled, wavered, almost lost both portfolio and coffee, and dropped the tray to save the sail. Carelessness and— Oh hi, Aki, what are you doing here?
She barely had a chance to struggle into some clothes and start the coffeemaker before there was a knock at the door. “Coming!” she yelled.
Aki was there, still awkwardly balancing the portfolio and one leg dripping with coffee. He grinned a little and shrugged one shoulder questioningly, leaving a java puddle on the carpet.
“You have problems,” Theo informed him, but stood aside to let him in anyway. “What is it?”
“Good morning to you too,” Aki said, shaking off the last few drops of coffee. “Can I have a drink? Gravity happened to mine.”
“In the kitchen.” Theo helped him set down the portfolio. It was bigger than she’d first realized, at least forty-eight by seventy-two, hard-shelled and made to be toted around by nervous artists like them.
“Cream?”
“No cream, but there’s milk. Aki, what’s going on?”
His voice was muffled a little by the refrigerator door. “I think I went a little crazy with Sandy’s present, and I need a second opinion before I wreck it. What do you think?”
Theo opened the portfolio and peered in at the painting. Her first impression was movement, a cascade of brilliant colors: tangerine and flame orange and saffron with highlights of white so pure it was almost green. There might have been a shape in it, a sleek, liquid canine figure that seemed to pour upwards as it leaped. She blinked, and the impression was gone. Only swirls of color remained.
“Wow,” she murmured, squashing a quick surge of jealousy. Aki hadn’t been kidding. He really did listen to what she’d said, and done more with it than she’d ever imagined.
She tilted her head, and the dog was there again, almost. She could swear its legs had moved.
“The last design was too static,” Aki continued, oblivious to the thoughts running through Theo’s head. “And the old palette didn’t have enough life to it, so I switched it up a bit. Good?”
“Definitely,” Theo said, tilting the painting to get a better look.
“Will she like it?” Aki’s brow creased. Between the hedgehog hair and the dark circles forming under his eyes, he’d clearly been up late putting the finishing touches on it. It was definitely a labor of love, or at least a labor of passionate like.
“I think so,” Theo said. Aki’s face broke into a wide smile, and she sighed. “You’ve got it bad, you dork.”
“I plead the fifth.” Aki swirled his coffee and grinned at Theo’s expression. “It’s gonna be her Christmas present.”
“Well, good luck.” That seemed to be a good general comment; there was no real way to say what she was thinking. “Tell me how it goes, okay? I’m going out of town on the twentieth.”
Aki frowned. “You are? Since when?”
“Since last week. Thought I told you that?” Theo propped the portfolio against the couch and, resigned that she wasn’t going to get any more sleep, shuffled into the bathroom to brush her hair. The apartment was small enough that she could hear visitors from any part of the place—nice whenever Aki stopped by for one of his early morning critique sessions. “Mom wants me to watch the Deerfield house while she and Dad are in Taos.”
“Almost thirty years old, and your parents still got you on the leash.” Aki tsked while Theo sighed a little and negotiated a nasty tangle. “Merry Christmas to you, now babysit the house by yourself while we jet off to the ends of the earth?”
“Dick.” Theo worked a handful of leave-in conditioner into her hair and whipped it into a quick braid. “You are not gonna spoil my day today, I swear. Your painting is perfect, so go wrap it up, feel good about yourself and let me actually have breakfast and get into my work clothes, okay?”
The springs on the couch plonked as Aki settled onto it with his cup of coffee. “Make it fast and you can ride in to work with me.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She snapped an elastic onto the end of her braid. “Feet off the coffee table, please.”
Something crashed, and Theo grinned to herself as Aki protested that he didn’t have his feet on the table. Of course he didn’t now, but fifteen seconds ago it had been a different story.
In three weeks, Exhibition Hall A in the Columbian Exposition Museum of Natural History would become a showplace of ancient treasures. Theo knew the plans back to front: a series of long galleries, each showcasing a major period in the Eleventh and Twelfth Dynasties, crowned by the reproduction of THS203’s tomb and tomb goods. The mummy itself would be there, half-unwrapped behind glass and displayed under a portrait of what it must have looked like in life.
And with it, its shabtis, which Theo had spent weeks drawing for exhibition posters and souvenir designs. The thought got a little smile from her as she shuffled into her painting coveralls. She had a soft spot for the little guys.
The whole hall was in motion. The space had been divided by temporary walls, and teams of eight or twelve men called out to each other over the buzz of electric saws and cursed the electricians who skittered between them with orange extension cords. There was a busy energy in the air, and drifts of sawdust littered the floor in the unfinished areas, giving them a delicious woodsy scent that made some of the artists sneeze.
The first of the gallery rooms had been effectively finished. The walls were painted a warm sandy color, fading to tarnished gold at the base, and a dais for the full-sized Nile rowboat had been built. The carpet hadn’t yet been installed, but Theo knew that the intended shade was a deep blue-green, chosen to perfectly match the colors of the water that she had painted. Visitors would feel as if they were knee-deep in the river, sandy banks rising up on each side. It was perfect.
Now the only thing lacking was the mural itself. One long wall was left primed but unpainted, and it was here that Theo, Aki and the team went to work.
The completed painting had been scanned and mapped with a grid. Using a projector, they overlaid painting and grid onto the wall itself, marking the squares and lines with faint pencil that would disappear entirely under the paint. The grid itself would be projected again when the base colors had been finished, giving them areas to concentrate on for detail work, but for now they painted in broad strokes.
This was the best part. The artists worked quickly, laying down the most basic shapes of flat color: blue here, green here, yellow on the bank and a blob of blue-black that would eventually become a fisherman’s hair. Backmost layers first, let it quickly dry, and then the next above it. Now was not the time for detail. Theo almost galloped up the stepladder, balancing a small can of blue gray with her left hand as she drew broad swaths of color across the wall. Behind them, fans were aimed at the wall to help the paint dry more quickly. Wisps of Theo’s hair fluttered in the breeze, and she quickly tucked them under her plastic shower cap, leaving a smear of teal near her hairline.
Aki was supercharged. He’d left his painting at Theo’s apartment, but it seemed to have energized him; as soon as they arrived at the museum he’d dashed off to talk to Sandy, and returned exultant and a little loopy. For once, Theo didn’t envy his energy—with a brush in hand and a whole wall to play with, she was in the same zone.
She uncapped the teal again and with short, jabbing strokes began stippling paint into what would be the shadowed curve of a small wave. At this stage, with patches of the first
layers still damp, colors blended easily and no sharp lines were even possible. If she squinted her eyes, she could almost imagine herself on the Nile already.
Aki was saying something, but she didn’t quite register it. Patches of chocolate brown, the base flesh tone for two of the men, could now take the white of the kilt. Motion maybe? She’d had good results in the original painting, but never been entirely satisfied by the shape she’d achieved. Now she could try again.
She was reaching for a small can of white when an incoming commotion broke through her haze. Several heads turned towards the entrance to the gallery. Mark Zimmer, the chief of Security, hurried through the crowd towards the door, with a couple of his guards trailing behind. Somebody—somebody who shouldn’t be there, to judge by the commotion—had entered the gallery. Theo squinted through the crowd, frowning a little, and felt a poke of surprise when she recognized him.
He was in gray this time, a shade almost identical to the sleek, iron-colored streaks in his hair. In the strong light of the gallery his skin held more warmth, this time with the touch of copper that should have been visible on the night of the party, but the blue undertones were still there. As she watched, he maneuvered easily around the minefield of sawhorses and scaffolding that littered the hall. Two more security guards trailed in his wake but weren’t stopping him, so the artists and builders let him through.
Zimmer didn’t take kindly to people strolling into an area closed to the public. “Can I help you?” he said, crossing his arms.
“Seth Adler,” Mr. Adler said calmly. He handed Zimmer a folded piece of paper. “I arranged with Dr. Schechter to view the construction of the new exhibition. I think a message should have been sent?”
Zimmer opened it, glancing back and forth between Adler and paper. “Checks out,” he said. Theo smiled a little at that. Translation: “Okay, the administration says you’re authorized and I technically have to listen to them, but I wish they’d quit letting outsiders run around backstage, goddammit.” She liked Zimmer, who understood that people worked late and made accommodations to the security schedule, but if he could keep the collections safe by locking people out of the museum altogether he’d have done it in a heartbeat.
The God Collector Page 4
