“Good eye, child,” said Safa, turning. “Images of Hatshepsut as queen were left untouched. It was only the ones that showed her as ruler in her own right that were destroyed. The next pharaoh wanted to make sure it was his descendants and not hers who would take the throne.”
“So unfair,” said Ren.
“The world has always been a difficult place for powerful women,” said Safa with a somewhat weary smile. “I keep these here as both a tribute and a reminder.”
As she began walking out of the room, Alex remembered what he’d meant to say in the first place. “Thank you for letting us stay here,” he said. “It helps a lot.”
“And I am happy to help,” said Safa, still walking. For a moment, it seemed like that would be all, but a few steps later, she stopped and turned to face him.
“You know, it was your mother who first led me to Hatshepsut. I knew her in school.”
Alex leaned in, listening carefully. Despite everything, he found himself trusting this woman. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs for the questions he wanted to ask her about his mom, but Safa cut him short.
“Your mother had been offered a grant to study Hatshepsut — very prestigious,” she said. “But she’d just had you, you see, and she declined.”
“She had to give up her grant?” said Alex.
“You were quite sick at the time,” said Safa.
“Yeah,” said Alex, looking down at his feet. “That sounds like me.” Sick … and already causing her trouble.
Safa smiled sympathetically. “The grant did not go to waste,” she said. “I’d planned to do my postdoc work on Ramses VI. Do you know what she told me?”
Alex shook his head, still not looking up.
“She said that the world needs another paper on Ramses like Giza needs another tourist. And then she recommended me to the grant administrator, Dr. Alshuff.”
“Mahmoud Alshuff?” asked Todtman.
Safa nodded. “Alshuff had been Maggie’s doctoral adviser, as well. He trusted her recommendation. And so I found myself studying a woman who took power without apology. A woman whose legacy was too big to be erased by men. Studying Hatshepsut changed what I thought about my country, my history, myself. So, yes, Alex Sennefer, you are welcome to stay here. You and the doctor and” — she looked over at Ren — “your better half.”
Then she turned and continued out of the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go. Bubbi will show you to your rooms once you’re done in here. I have a videoconference to get back to.”
“But it’s the middle of the night,” said Alex.
“Not in Tokyo,” she said, giving them a small over-the-shoulder wave and closing the door behind her.
“I like her!” said Ren.
“She is an interesting woman,” said Todtman, his voice betraying his admiration.
“How do you know her?” said Ren.
“I have advised her for years on her purchases,” said Todtman, pulling up a chair as Alex and Ren collapsed on either side of a sleek modern couch. “Whether the pieces are real, how much to pay, how likely she is to get arrested for having them … It is a relationship based on trust.”
Alex leaned back into the soft black leather as he listened. A relationship based on trust — and on an opportunity he’d cost his mom. Her first sacrifice for him. He pictured a little web of connections — Todtman, Safa, the university — with his own mom at the center.
“So what next?” said Ren.
“Tomorrow we go to the university,” said Todtman. “And talk to her old adviser.”
“Dr. Alshuff,” said Alex. He was in the web, too.
Todtman nodded. “I know Mahmoud. In fact, I believe I owe him money.”
An hour later, they were all sound asleep. It had been an intense day, both physically and mentally.
Around the house, Bubbi and another man watched carefully, peering out windows and into monitors. They knew these guests brought danger with them. But neither man saw the tall regal woman in the front garden, her feet leaving no prints in the soft soil.
She was not seen for the simple reason that she did not want to be, and she left no prints for the simple reason that she was not actually touching the ground.
Instead, she hovered there among the fragrant herbs, staring up at the second floor with half a face.
Their hostess was nowhere in sight the next morning, but a traditional Egyptian breakfast was waiting on the kitchen counter downstairs: three plates of fava beans — some whole, some mashed, all cold — with thick pita bread tucked along the sides. “What is this?” asked Ren, grabbing the nearest plate and shoveling some of the beany mix into a pita.
“It is called fuul,” said Todtman, doing the same.
“Fuel?” said Ren.
“Close enough,” said Todtman.
Alex looked around for doughnuts or Pop-Tarts before reluctantly picking up the third plate. He watched the others devour their food without injury and took a bite. Earthy and bitter, the fuul tasted like a combination of hummus, lemon, and something grittier. He took another bite. Then another. It wasn’t so bad, actually. Alex wolfed down his second overstuffed pita and burped. Ren gave him a disapproving look, but Todtman ignored it and said, “Let’s go. The university will be open by now.”
As soon as they stepped out the door, they saw Safa and Bubbi standing next to the rental car in the driveway, their eyes on a small electronic sensor in Bubbi’s hands. Finally, he looked up and shook his head: No. Safa walked straight toward them and met them halfway down the walkway.
“No tracking devices,” she said. “At least none that we could detect.”
“Oh!” said Todtman, an involuntary exclamation that told them all that the possibility hadn’t occurred to him.
Safa gave him a sympathetic look. “Sometimes I think you actually live in the ancient world, Doctor.”
“Sometimes I wish I did,” he said with a slightly abashed smile.
The well-traveled old rental car started on the second try. The gleaming security gate seemed to kick the sputtering clunker out with some disdain, hissing open and then shutting with a loud thunk.
“Who’d want to track this hunk of junk?” said Ren from the backseat.
Alex smiled, but his eyes were alert. They were out in broad daylight in a major Egyptian city. The Order’s influence was everywhere in Egypt, and this particular hunk of junk held three very wanted individuals. He felt better in fast-moving traffic. It would be hard to see his face at that speed, and apart from that, he didn’t really stand out from the crowd around them. He’d inherited a lot of his father’s Egyptian features, even if he’d never known the man.
He looked around the car. Ren’s eyes barely topped the rear windows, but Todtman couldn’t have stood out more if he was wearing bright green lederhosen.
They’d arrived in Alexandria at night, and now he sized it up by daylight. History revealed itself in layers from block to block. Some stretches were distinctly Egyptian, with mosque minarets needling upward. Other areas were almost European, like a faded, peeling version of the pastel beauty he’d seen in Vienna. And now and then, in between buildings and avenues, he caught sun-sparkling glimpses of the massive blue Mediterranean beyond.
A chorus of car horns erupted all around them as the traffic on the street came to a halt. As Alex looked around for the problem, the horns were drowned out by the sound of an approaching siren. He swung back around in time to see a fire engine roar into view in front of them.
“Where’s the fire?” said Ren, ducking her head between the front seats.
The crowd began to scatter on the sidewalk up ahead, and Alex heard shouts in Arabic and a few screams. As the last pedestrians ducked into nearby doors or rushed out into the stopped traffic, he finally saw the cause of the commotion: a ragged mummy, stumbling down the center of the sidewalk!
Three firefighters appeared behind it, running fast despite their heavy coats. As the first of them approached the ancie
nt corpse from behind, he began pumping feverishly on the sort of small metal canister used to spray chemicals on lawns.
“Are they going to, um, fertilize it?” said Ren, retreating slightly into the backseat.
The creature began weaving unevenly between the sidewalk and the edge of the road. The screams coming from within the cars were more muted now, as any open windows were rapidly raised. The mummy was just a few car-lengths away, and Alex could see its dry wrappings flapping loosely in the morning breeze and one skeletal foot bent nearly backward. The fireman gave the canister one more pump and then pointed the little nozzle. Clear liquid sprayed forth, dousing the mummy’s back.
“BROAN!” it cried hoarsely. “STAHK!”
It turned around and faced its pursuers. The eyes of the man with the spray can turned into wide white-rimmed circles, and he began mumbling prayers, but still he pointed the nozzle. He doused the mummy’s front, then tucked the nozzle and ran as the thing stumbled toward him, arms out, bony fingers reaching for living flesh. The second firefighter turned and ran, too. The third prepared to bolt, but before he did, he tossed a small glowing object toward the lumbering corpse.
FOOOF!
The mummy went up in flames. It roared angrily and took a few more steps before collapsing facedown in the street.
The firefighters rushed back, not with gas this time but with a long hose from the truck. They waited until the dried-out corpse was little more than ash before turning the hose on. Ash and steam and scraps of aged linen rose up into the morning sun.
The pedestrians reappeared from the doors and walked almost casually around the remains as the firefighters coiled their hose. The honking resumed. “It appears that they have seen this before,” said Todtman as the fire truck pulled away and the traffic began moving again.
Alex had never seen firefighters start a fire before — much less by lighting a desiccated corpse — but the world was changing. He remembered the angry, haunted streets of Cairo. The dead there had been only whispers, voices. Now they were part of the morning rush hour.
As the car picked up speed, they lowered the windows again. The warm, slightly salty breeze felt good as they rolled through the city, their eyes peeled for mummies or Order operatives. From her perch in the backseat, Ren saw Alex’s head swiveling from side to side, like an electric fan. Scanning the sidewalk, always on the lookout.
She knew he’d been joking about the “little sister” thing, but he really did treat her like one sometimes. He was so determined that he sometimes took on more responsibility than he should. Don’t say you have first watch if you can’t stay awake, she thought, staring at the back of his head. What if that thing had attacked her? She was pretty sure he would’ve slept through the whole thing. And it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d bitten off more than he could chew and gotten them into trouble. Yeah, he knew a lot about ancient Egypt. Yeah, he was good with his scarab.
But he wasn’t the only one who knew things, who could do things. She glanced down at her ibis. It had allowed her to zap that shadow, and it had shown her this city. Was she really getting better with it?
Ren didn’t believe in luck; she believed in probability. When she used the amulet, it still felt like rolling the dice. It had failed her before. Still, it was nice to have a few wins under her belt. For now, she reached up and tucked the ancient artifact under her shirt, careful not to hold it too tightly and invite more images in.
As for Alex … She glanced toward the front seat. He had his entire head out the window now, like a wind-drunk dog. She smiled. It was hard to stay mad at him. But if he messes up again, she thought, it will get a lot easier.
They reached the university, found a parking spot in the visitors’ lot, and walked toward the main building, a massive redbrick structure. Even in the middle of the summer, students and professors were walking by, carrying books and having intense conversations. And not just in Arabic. Ren caught snatches of English and French and other languages she didn’t know. Not yet, anyway.
As a girl who’d been browsing college websites since fourth grade, she felt, if not at home, then at least more at ease. She remembered her dad’s words: Negativity accomplishes nothing, unless you’re an ion. She wasn’t a subatomic particle, and they had work to do. They pushed through the big double doors of the administration building.
“We’re going to stop them,” she said with a sudden rush of optimism. The mid-morning heat faded inside the cool, hushed hallway.
Todtman, who seemed to know these hallways, looked over at her. “Oh yes?” he said, his expression somewhat bemused.
“Yes,” she said firmly, spreading her arms to take in their scholarly surroundings. “Because we’re smarter.”
Alex agreed immediately. “Those are some ignorant individuals,” he said. He looked over at Ren and added, “My mom went here.” His eyes were wide with wonder. He pointed emphatically down at the marble-tiled hallway. “She probably walked right here!”
Todtman brought the group to a halt in front of a heavy wooden door. A little plaque beside it read ROOM 111-B, DR. ALSHUFF. “This is it,” he said.
He knocked three times with the rubber tip of his cane.
Puhnk! Puhnk! Puhnk!
“Willkommen!” a voice called through the door.
Clearly, they were expected.
What Ren had no way of knowing as they walked into the sunny, book-lined office was that the old professor within wasn’t the only one expecting them.
Dr. Alshuff had had it rough.
The old academic stood and greeted them with a forced smile and a black eye. “It is good to see you again, my old friend,” Alshuff said to Todtman, but he sounded more nervous than happy.
Alex stared at the ugly purple bruise on the loose skin around the old man’s left eye. “And you!” said the doctor, turning and catching him looking. “You look just like —” Alex’s ears perked up. He knew he didn’t look much like his mom, and he had never seen so much as a picture of his father — but had this man? “Um, just like I imagined,” Alshuff added after an awkward pause.
Alshuff extended his hand and Alex shook it. He’d trusted Safa immediately, almost despite himself, but trust was still in short supply in Alex’s world. And he didn’t trust this nervous, shifty-eyed guy at all. “What happened to your eye?” he said bluntly.
Alshuff immediately launched into an elaborate story involving a heavy book, a top shelf, and some dust. Alex couldn’t help thinking about his cousin. During the time they’d spent together in London and Egypt, Luke had fooled Alex completely. Alex had fallen for his act, thinking they were allies — even friends — all while Luke was spying on him and Ren. But he wasn’t so naive anymore. Alex’s expression hardened. He was more alert now, more wary — and he was sure Alshuff’s story was a lie.
Meanwhile, Alshuff had turned toward Ren. “And who is this?” he said.
“I’m Renata Duran,” she said. “Is this school hard to get in to?”
The old professor released a dry, clucking laugh. “Not for an Amulet Keeper,” he said, eyeing her ibis. Ren nodded, making a mental note.
Alshuff took a seat behind his big wooden desk and the others pulled out the three chairs arrayed in front of it. “So,” he said. “How can I help you today?”
A smile formed above Todtman’s sloping chin as he considered the man. Alex could tell he’d picked up their host’s phony vibe, too, and he was glad. “As I mentioned on the phone,” said Todtman, “we are looking for information about Maggie.”
Alshuff shooed a fly away from his face with a wave of one sweaty palm. “Of course,” he said. “And what is it you would like to know about her?”
“Ah,” said Todtman. “That is the question. We are looking for anything that might help us understand where she is now, where she would go. We believe she’s in Egypt, and we know she has history in Alexandria. Beyond that …” Todtman let his words trail off, but Alshuff was quick to offer his own.
“
You are trying to find her,” he offered. “And she does not want to be found.”
“Exactly,” said Todtman.
Alex looked from one man to the other. There was something going on between them, something extra being communicated in their looks. Alshuff swatted at the fly again, harder this time. Todtman watched him closely.
“Well,” said Alshuff, leaning back in his chair, “as you know, Maggie was primarily interested in the Ptolemaic period, when the Greeks ruled Egypt.”
He raised his voice as he said this, and Alex got the annoying impression that it was for his benefit. He knew what the Ptolemaic period was! It was funny, though: He didn’t really remember his mom being particularly interested in it. She rarely even ventured over to the Greek section at the Met.
“You might want to take a closer look at some of the major Ptolemaic sites,” Alshuff continued. “The Temple of Philae, perhaps. She would be quite at home in that area, I think.”
Alshuff’s voice was loud but shaky, dotted with little pauses as if making it up as he went along. His eyes were on the ceiling, his desk — anywhere but on the people he was talking to. Alex had heard enough of his lies. “But my mom never —” he began.
Alshuff cut him off immediately. “Well!” said the old professor, filling his voice with false confidence. “I wish I had more time to talk, but it is a busy day here, and we have a departmental meeting in a few minutes.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “One of our mummies was apparently burned to ashes downtown, and they will want to remind us again to lock our doors.”
Todtman pushed back his own chair and stood. Alex and Ren followed suit. Alshuff came around the desk and put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex flinched. The gesture seemed friendly enough, but he was also gently but firmly guiding him toward the door. Alex looked up and saw Alshuff looking down at the scarab beneath his collar.
“It has been a very long time since I have seen the Returner,” he said, his voice suddenly quite steady. This, thought Alex, is what the man really sounds like. “Your mother’s most significant discovery. Until recently, of course.”
The Stone Warriors Page 4
