Motion! That was the trick, the thing she always chased. It niggled at her when nothing else could. Motion on canvas, motion in pigment. It was one of the elusive qualities that made art great, that made someone stop and stare at a Winslow Homer or an incredible, incomprehensible Escher.
Tongue between her teeth, Theo surveyed the painting as it stood, gaze skating easily over the familiar shapes and shades as she asked the inevitable question. Will this do?
Not yet, but it might. It was a layered scene: two darkly tanned Egyptian men in simple white kilts were dragging a papyrus-reed boat up onto the shore with their backs to the viewer, while a third secured a basket full of fish. Behind them the Nile flowed, broad enough that the far bank faded into a mass of soft colors and stippled strokes.
Towering over the boatmen and obscuring the far bank was the green-painted funerary barge of a king. Golden eyes were set on the barge’s prow, and the figure of the king’s gilded coffin blazed with light atop it, but the boatmen didn’t glance up from their work.
There was potential for motion, if she could grab it. The wind stirred the men’s kilts; the smaller of the two boat-haulers was bent almost double, his back straining as he dragged on the sodden craft. A bend, a stretch, a touch of light—maybe she could—
The rattle of the elevator disrupted her concentration before it could take hold. “Not tonight, hon,” Theo reminded herself. Tonight she wasn’t likely to get much done, not with people running around and asking questions.
But that didn’t mean she was going to ignore her responsibilities. People attended for more than the parties: They wanted to see the museum at work, and Theo had her part in that. When a group of five patrons was escorted into the aerie, she looked over her shoulder and waved to them before loading her palette with orange and titanium white.
To her surprise, Aki wasn’t leading them. Jem Vladashvili, a student intern, was at the head of the group instead. Theo could make out a few shapes from the corner of her eye, but she concentrated on her work while Jem gave his spiel. The second boatman, the straining one, had real potential—the folds of his kilt were damp with sweat and water, but something about its curve and stretch was telling Theo it wanted to move. The quality of light and texture was the key here. She folded yellow, orange, white, and a pinprick of pink together, creating a rich golden tangerine that layered beautifully into the existing colors of the kilt and showed where the light of the setting sun shone right through the fabric. It was beginning to come together.
Jem’s voice floated past as he gestured. He had a thick Russian accent, but he spoke slowly enough for everyone to understand him, and Theo knew he was favoring the patrons with his almost-sweet smile. “This is where we are designing the many pictures for inclusion in the new exhibitions. Theodora is always planning the important new murals, and Akeela—he is not here in the loft now—he is always planning many of the other pictures we are needing, such as for our brochures and signs. We are working here for a long time, and it is a very good way to make the pictures for what the museum is needing.”
“I thought murals were bigger,” a female voice said. “That’s just a canvas. My painting class uses those.”
“The mural must be created before it is made in larger size for the wall,” Jem explained. Theo could feel the patrons moving closer, and keeping her back turned was no longer diplomatic. She stepped aside to let them examine the painting for themselves, and tried not to fidget while they did.
The patrons murmured over the canvas, and one of them poked the surface of it, drawing an inadvertent squeak of alarm from Theo.
“Please, no touching,” Jem said before Theo could say anything. “It is not good to touch the painting before it is dry and ready.”
One of the visitors piped up with a question about the funerary boat. Jem fielded that, and the other questions that followed, while Theo tried to figure out where to put her hands.
Finally, the party drifted off, led by Jem. From the sound of things, he was telling a story, and a ripple of laughter accompanied the group down the hallway. Bless Jem for his people skills.
The light shifted and she squinted. Fresh shadows had fallen on her palette, turning her lovely tangerine gold almost brown. Someone was standing behind her, and they were blocking her light.
Putting on a friendly smile, she turned. “Excuse me, may I help—Dr. Schechter?”
Mariana Schechter was a short, sleek platinum blonde in her fifties. Tonight she was wearing a copper-colored gown with a matching emerald bracelet and choker set, and her spike heels put her nearly at eye level with Theo. As usual, though, the height disparity seemed to go the other direction—underneath the soft waves of carefully styled blonde curls, Dr. Schechter had a stare like a razor.
Standing behind her was Seth Adler. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and was looking around the loft with a sort of cautious curiosity. His gaze lingered on the painting for a long moment.
Theo’s heart gave a flip-flop. Dr. Schechter tended to hobnob at the dais level, sweet-talking local politicians or wealthy art collectors into sending more funds the Columbian’s way. If she was here in the loft with a random guest— Oh no, had he complained?
Had Theo crossed some strange invisible line? And there were hundreds—no, thousands—of artists and graphic designers who’d be ready to take her place.…
She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Evening, Dr. Schechter, Mr. Adler. Sorry, you startled me for a second there.”
“Quite all right, Theodora.” Dr. Schechter half-turned and took a step back, clearing the line of sight between Theo and Mr. Adler. “I was hoping I’d find you here. I’m sure you’ve already met Mr. Adler?”
“I…oh yes, at dinner.” This didn’t sound like the beginning of a reaming-out, but if there was one thing Theo had learned early it was that life always had another disappointment in store. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, actually.” Dr. Schechter gestured toward both of them, as if she could make them move closer to each other with the sheer force of her interpersonal skills. “Mr. Adler was put with Akeela’s group, but he’s very interested in the art department and was hoping for a private tour.”
A private tour? Thanks to the security concerns surrounding the collections, that almost never happened. But if Dr. Schechter was authorizing it…Theo glanced at Adler, curious, and found golden-brown eyes fixed on hers.
Her fingers loosened on the paintbrush as she met his gaze. She’d been wrong. Not curiosity. Caution, yes, but not curiosity. He was seeing everything he had expected to see, and yet he wasn’t at ease. She wondered what he was thinking. Maybe she could ask.
“No, it’s not a problem,” she said. Dr. Schechter was watching. “I might not be the best person for this, though. I mean, I don’t normally give tours.”
Dr. Schechter gave Theo a nod. “I realize that this is unusual, Theodora, but Mr. Adler has clearance from security,” she said. “And given his areas of interest, I thought you would be the best choice to show him around. He’s done so much for your department.”
Theo’s confusion must have shown because Dr. Schechter elaborated, “Mr. Adler is the direct controller of the Neith Trust.”
Oh.
Oh.
The Neith Trust was the longest-running endowment in the history of the Columbian. Everyone in the department knew the story. Rachid al-Adhur, an Egyptian Muslim educated in London, was among the first men to endow the museum when it was founded in 1895. The elderly al-Adhur had been outraged by the destruction of Egyptian antiquities and had dedicated a large portion of his fortune specifically for the museum to use in restoring tomb-painting fragments in their collection. In the 1930s, the Trust had been expanded by al-Adhur’s son to include the re-creation of old works, and soon most of the art department—and part of the Egyptology group—was funded by the Trust.
Al-Adhur’s family, now the Adlers, had kept it going for more than a hundred years. They’d carefully stew
arded their money through the generations, buying slow-growing but reliable businesses and investing heavily in property. They never seemed to act out in ways that would draw negative attention and were generous to a fault with their contributions to reputable institutions. The perfect donors, in fact, if one hadn’t been there in front of her.
Theo tried to covertly survey the loft, wondering if there was anything she should have covered up or gotten rid of. If the controller of the Neith Trust thought that his money was being misused, she was dead.
Dr. Schechter was watching her. A response seemed to be in order. Theo swallowed again and hitched her friendly expression back into place.
“I had no idea,” she said. “I’m not used to donors being, you know, human.”
She immediately flushed and fought the urge to cover her face—So much for looking professional, Theo; he’s gonna think you’re a flake—but while Dr. Schechter flashed her a sharp look, Mr. Adler gave a small smile. It was an odd expression, a minor tilt of the lips that looked out of place on an otherwise placid face. Something about it tugged at her memory, but she wasn’t sure what.
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I wanted to talk to someone and get a sense of how things were in the department, so I asked the doctor to point me toward an interesting employee. Forgive me?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, trying to keep her tone equally light while mentally scanning every word that had passed her lips in the past three hours.
“Doctor,” Adler said, “thank you for the introduction. I believe you set a time limit of one hour for this tour, correct?”
“That’s correct,” she said.
“In that case, I’d like to get started at once so we don’t keep Miss Speer here too late. Would you excuse us?”
Dr. Schechter probably wasn’t used to being dismissed, but she handled it with grace. “Of course,” she said. “Theodora, take Mr. Adler down to see the mummy, won’t you? And be sure to check in with Security when you’re finished up here. Good night, Mr. Adler.” And she strode away, steady on her high heels despite the thick carpet, leaving Theo and Mr. Adler alone in the loft.
Theo crossed her arms, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. Her parents knew how to handle this kind of thing. Local politicians, newspaper critics, and prominent academics were bread-and-butter to them, but her memories of their dinner parties mainly consisted of staring at her plate and trying not to say anything that might embarrass them. What now?
Well, at least Dr. Schechter had given her a place to start. “All right, Mr. Adler,” she said, cleaning her brush. “Would you like to meet our star exhibit?”
“Please,” he said. “Lead on.”
* * *
The mummy was officially designated THS203, but people who work with the dead have to have a sense of humor, and it had acquired a number of nicknames since moving into the preparation lab. Somebody had taped a reworked version of the THX1138 logo to the door, and the mummy itself had been referred to in various internal memos as Tiny, Doorstop, Turkey Jerky, and the Sixth Ranger.
Most of the names were apt. THS203 was well-preserved, but what had survived wasn’t a sight for a weak stomach. Unwrapped from the crown of its head to the middle of its chest, it resembled an insect emerging from a flaky brown cocoon. The bandaging had flattened its nose, and its jaw hung loose, no longer kept in place by torn leathery cheeks and lips. Years of tuberculosis had ravaged it before it had gone into the tomb, and its partially unwrapped arms were twisted twigs.
“There it is,” Theo said, resting her fingertips on the glass. Nobody outside of the preparation lab called THS203 “he”: though technically male, it was more fossil than human. Easier to think of it as an artifact than a corpse. “Meet THS203. Number Three to friends.”
Mr. Adler stood next to her, gaze fixed on the dead man behind the glass. His hands were back in his pockets, but his back was ramrod straight. Theo waited a moment to see if he would say something, then tried to fill the silence as best she could.
“It’s amazing it’s in such good condition, really. People first learned about the THS2 tomb when its pieces started appearing on the antiques market, back before the Columbian was founded. Number Three and his grave goods have been bouncing around collections for the last century or so, and it took forever for us to get as many pieces as we have. Now we can finally display them together. It’s going to be a great exhibit, I think.”
A muscle tightened in Adler’s cheek.
“But it is in good condition?” he said. “Will it last much longer, out of its tomb?”
“We’re taking care of it,” Theo promised. “It was pretty lucky as far as mummies go. One collector partially unwrapped it and took the amulets hidden in its bandages, but most of those were tracked down and bought back into the collection. Stored in low light, in an airtight and sterile environment…it could last forever.”
That seemed to satisfy Adler. His gaze lingered on the mummy’s face for a bare moment before skating away, focusing on the half-undone wrappings.
“The amulets,” he said. “Will they be returned to the mummy?”
“They’ll be on display in the same exhibit.” Something was bothering Adler, but she wasn’t sure what. “It’s a fascinating collection. There’s the heart scarab and the djed pillar, of course, standard burial amulets, but we don’t often see male mummies buried with an Isis knot amulet. The tyet. It’s considered a woman’s symbol, usually. Though, of course, it does symbolize resurrection. Some of the experts here think it must have been a gift from his wife…”
She faltered slightly. Adler’s gaze was still fixed on the mummy.
“It looks unusual,” he said finally.
“Strange?” Theo guessed.
“Repellent.”
Not Theo’s first choice. Drawings were important when even a weak camera flash might damage an artifact, and Theo had spent hours in the preparation labs, sketching the mummy and its collection of artifacts. To her, THS203 was like an insect breaking out of its chrysalis. The owner of the body had once believed that he was moving on to the next world, and the specimen they examined was what he had left behind.
Adler, though, didn’t seem to be in the mood for a discussion like that. He seemed to be waiting for the mummy to justify itself: get up, walk around, give them both a reason for its presence there. And when it didn’t, he turned away from the glass as if his low opinion had been confirmed.
“I’m surprised you don’t like it,” she said as genially as she could. “I thought your family was very involved with the preservation efforts.”
“Financially only,” Adler said, leaning his back against the glass. “I do some networking for valuable pieces on behalf of the museum, but aside from my great-grandfather, none of us has known much about the actual excavating and caretaking. That was one of the reasons we set up the Trust.”
“Well, you’ve made a lot of excavators and caretakers very happy people,” Theo pointed out. She couldn’t help a prickle of worry at the expression on Adler’s face. Was he feeling sick? How many glasses of wine had he had at dinner? She couldn’t remember.
“You know, we don’t have to hang around the lab if you don’t want to,” she said. “Would you like to see the other THS2 artifacts?”
“In a minute.” He half-turned for another look at the mummy. “What do you think of all this? Does the exhibit seem like a good idea to you?”
Theo was taken aback by the question. “Well, yes,” she said. “This is what it’s really 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 asking her for help. “It’s not right, Miss Speer.”
“That’s not it at all,” Theo said bluntly. She probably should have been more diplomatic, but he was asking her t
o 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 for the dead bodies.” Or naked statues—the upstairs bronzes tended to get their glazes rubbed off in pretty specific places.
“But I have friends in Production,” she continued. “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. We made copies of the amulets buried with the corpse. 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 held 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 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.
“You really believe that,” he said. His voice was quiet. 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.
“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.”
Painter of the Dead (Shades of Immortality Book 1) Page 3
