“Yes, Mother. I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit dirty, is all. And hungry,” I added, just in case they hadn’t cleared all the dinner dishes away. I risked a glance up at Father, who was glaring down at me.
“Really, Theodosia, you have gone too far this time.” He turned to Mother. “I warned you something was not right when we found those things of hers in your trunk.”
For being such an absent-minded sort, Father can certainly be perceptive when he wants to be.
He began talking to the captain, and Mother started fussing over me. Quite frankly, I was very happy to be fussed over. I hadn’t realized until that moment how exhausted I was. Between sleeping in a lifeboat, the slimmest of rations for the past few days, and living with the constant worry of being found out, I was feeling rather wet-raggish.
Just as Mother started talking about getting me some food, the ensign showed up again, interrupting that precious thought. “Here’s the envelope, sir.” He tossed a smug look my way. “But there’s not nearly enough in there for a full passage.”
The captain’s mustaches twitched as he took the envelope and opened it. “You forget, she’s only to pay a child’s portion.” He glanced down at the money, then at me. “Well, Miss Throckmorton, it appears you are not a stowaway after all. At least not from us.” He looked shrewdly at my parents. “I think I’ll leave the three of you to sort this out.” He headed off to his other guests after, much to my surprise, winking at me.
“Come along, dear,” Mum said. “Let’s go get you something to eat and some warm dry clothes.”
“And a bath,” I added.
Mum smiled. “And a bath.”
“Oh, really, Henrietta,” Father interrupted. “Don’t coddle her. She’s just stowed away for heaven’s sake!” He turned to me. “What I want to know is what is so bloody important that you thought you had to stow away on this trip?”
His furious glare drove all the good excuses right out of my head. “I really wanted to see Egypt? And I thought you could use my help diverting the British Museum’s attention while you went after the Was scepter?”
Thankfully, Mum shushed Father at that point and kept him from interrogating me any further. I was soon bundled away, warm and snug in their cabin, sipping hot chocolate and telling Mother of my exploits. (Father still wasn’t speaking to me.) Soon, however, I was yawning into my cup, so Mum took it away and tucked me in for the night.
Just as we were all drifting off to sleep, Father sat bolt upright in bed. “Bloody hell, Theodosia! Do you know how dangerous that was?”
I winced. “Sorry, Father,” I said in a small voice.
He harrumphed, then lay back down. I decided that now was probably not a good time to ask what a pink elephant was.
A Welcoming Gift
A FEW MORNINGS LATER, I stood on the deck of the Rosetta Maru as we approached Alexandria. The city rose up in the distance, its towers and turrets and flags outlined against the sharp brilliant blue of the sky.
Oh, the sun! I cannot tell you how marvelous it was to have it shine in my face and feel its warmth against my shoulders. It had been absolutely ages since I’d seen a single ray of sunshine.
I did finally manage to point my face away from the sun long enough to look out over the deep blue water of Alexandria Harbor. Alexandria. The name alone conjured up feelings of mystery and the ancients.
This was the land of Antony and Cleopatra. Where the Lighthouse of Pharos had stood for hundreds of years, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. I couldn’t help but think of the lovely ancient library at Alexandria that had burned to the ground centuries ago. Oh how I wish it still stood. I bet they had loads of fascinating scrolls and texts on ancient Egyptian magic and curses.
The Rosetta Maru nosed her way through the harbor, which was full of more ships than I could even imagine. And the docks—what a huge disappointment. I was expecting something foreign and lovely. Instead they looked exactly like the docks back home. Only, the faces were somewhat darker. And the noise! The jumble of foreign sounds beat upon my ears like an exotic drum.
We were met by one of Mother’s contacts, a dragoman, she called him. I must say, it was a comfort to have someone to guide us through the turmoil and confusion.
Our guide herded us up into a carriage, and bustled away just as quickly as you please to the station where we could catch the train to Cairo. It was a hair-raising journey. Alexandria’s narrow streets were filled with small, crowded shops and unfortunate beggars everywhere. In some small odd way, it reminded me of the Seven Dials back home. Their mournful pleading for backsheesh was heart-wrenching.
I was relieved when our carriage turned into the large railway station. Our dragoman once again herded us (I suspect he is a shepherd during the off-season), this time toward our train. With luck, we would be in Cairo by dinnertime.
As we pulled out of the station, I vowed to return to Alexandria some day when I had time to see the sights. But today, I let myself be rushed along. After all, I had a mission to accomplish.
***
It was a pummeling train ride, as if the tracks had been laid down directly over the sand with no railway ties to anchor them. When I mentioned this to Father, he said, “Well, you wanted to experience the romance of travel, so don’t complain now that you have.” Funny, I never thought romance would be quite so dusty or jostley.
We arrived at a hotel called Shepheard’s, which was very grand. It rose four stories high and took up nearly the whole block. Enormous potted palm trees lined the front terrace. Men in turbans lounged on the front steps. A little brown monkey clung to one of the men’s shoulder. The concierge (I don’t know the Egyptian word for him) greeted Mother warmly and looked at Father rather dubiously. Whether it was because Father was being so narky (I think his leg was paining him) or for some other reason, I couldn’t be sure.
We were all quite tired by then, and only had a bit of time to dress for dinner. Father managed to hang on to his temper long enough for one of the porters to show us to our lodgings. Two men struggled behind with the bulk of the baggage.
As soon as the porter unlocked the door, I rushed in and headed straight for the window. A thrill of excitement ran down my spine. How exciting to be in Cairo at last!
The window looked out over a small garden with a little pond and more tall palm trees bowing their heads gracefully in the purple twilight. One or two stars began to show in the sky. I breathed in deeply and caught the fragrance of dust, dates, and sand, glad to have found a bit of romance and atmosphere at last. As the men hauled the luggage into the room, I heard a faint, dry scratching noise. I tilted my head to listen more carefully, but the men were making too much noise. I frowned at them, but they were busy trying to get the trunks to the ground without breaking them or their backs.
Father came to join me at the window. I looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back and I was struck by the mixture of excitement and longing in his expression. Then the scritching sound started up again, ruining the mood.
He sighed deeply. “Must you make that noise, Theodosia?”
“But it’s not me, Father. I noticed it too.”
We both stood very still and listened for a moment, then an apologetic look passed over his face. “Well, it’s probably nothing. Why don’t you go find something to change into for dinn—”
A small dark shape emerged from under the curtain, and I shoved Father back from the window.
“I say,” he began.
My eyes were nearly popping out of my head as I pointed to the carpet, right next to where he’d been standing. A large scorpion was scuttling across the floor. I took two giant steps back, then stretched my arm out and gently lifted the curtain away from the wall. A whole nest of scorpions was skulking under the curtains. That’s what had made the horrid scritching sound.
Father reached out and yanked me away from the wall and began yelling at the porters for putting us in a room with a nest of scorpions. This sent them into a panic as the
y had no idea their perfectly good room had pests, especially poisonous ones.
Pandemonium ensued. The porters bowed and begged a thousand apologies. The concierge himself rushed up to the room and spent the next half-hour assuring us that nothing like this had ever happened before in their illustrious hotel, and they begged a thousand more pardons.
As they carried on, I used the opportunity to make a quick examination of the room (staying well away from the scorpions, who were in fact not moving very much). I glanced over at the dresser and saw a small figure sitting on it. I snatched it off the dresser just as Father bellowed at me to come out of there.
When I stepped into the hallway, I looked down and slowly opened my hand. In my palm lay a small, thumb-size carving of Selket, the scorpion goddess. These scorpions hadn’t been a random nest, but called to our room by someone who knew of such things.
Who would have done this? And why?
The only explanation I could come up with was that it must have something to do with the Heart of Egypt. But only Wigmere and Stokes knew that it was here, so that didn’t really make any sense. Unless von Braggenschnott and his lot had somehow figured it out, or guessed. But how?
Was it possible that von Braggenschnott discovered the Heart of Egypt was missing before he boarded his ship that day? Could he have guessed that Will pinched it when he bumped into him? Then stayed in London and not returned to Germany with the others?
But that still didn’t explain how he would have known it was here in Cairo. Unless he was just following Mum’s movements, assuming she had got it back somehow. Or unless Mum—no! I would not let myself even voice the thought. Perhaps it was part of Amenemhab’s original curse. Either way, what did that do to my chances?
We finally got everything settled and moved to a new room. My parents spent quite a long time checking under the beds, behind the curtains, anywhere and everywhere a small scorpion might hide. But I didn’t join in. I knew they would find nothing.
Our enemies hadn’t known we’d be in this room. I was certain we’d be safe. At least for the night.
My head ached and my stomach was a gnawing pit of emptiness by the time we made it down to dinner. We didn’t have time to dress, which was quite mortifying as all the other diners looked us over the minute we stepped into the dining room. Mum assured me that this happened often, as travelers arrived at the hotel at all hours and not always with their dinner clothes to hand. Still, I would have liked to have made a more grand appearance for my first night in Egypt.
The Street Bazaar
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, my parents were up and off to the Antiquities Services or some such in order to speak to the proper officials about gaining access to Mum’s dig.
Luckily, Mum left her dragoman, Nabir, with me. They expected us to stay around the hotel, explore the gardens, that sort of thing—but of course, I had other plans. Tomorrow we were leaving for Thebes, which meant I had exactly one day to see all of Cairo. I wasn’t going to waste it in a silly hotel. Not with mosques and palaces and bazaars and marketplaces and all sorts of things to experience.
It took a bit of doing to get Nabir to agree to any of it. He just kept shaking his head and pretending like he didn’t understand me. Eventually I gave up trying to reason with him, and slammed a loathsome straw hat on my head so I wouldn’t get burned to a crisp in the hot Egyptian sun. Then I marched toward the door.
What could the poor man do but follow? Once he realized I was going with or without him, he began muttering something about “into the hands of Allah” and shaking his head.
I stepped outside into the bright yellow light of the morning, surprised at how different the air in Cairo feels. It’s not just hotter or brighter or drier, but also older somehow. The ancientness of the city pressed against my skin, drawing me into its age-old mysteries, begging me to explore its secrets.
Once Nabir had finished praying to Allah for assistance, he became much more helpful and steered me to the bazaar. I was dying to see all the Turkish carpets and fancy Eastern goods. Besides, I needed something to get my poor mind off worrying over who had set the scorpion trap. I wasn’t terribly anxious to wait around the hotel until they happened to show up again. Who knew what they’d try next time? Cobras? Asps? I had a feeling that scorpions were only the beginning.
The streets of Cairo were bustling with activity. Dark-skinned men were everywhere, some in funny little red felt hats and others cloaked in layers and layers of white cloth. Donkeys and camels shared the streets with carriages driven by half-naked natives. Swarms of people filled the narrow lanes, speaking more languages than you could imagine. It was almost as if the Tower of Babel had come to life! I was very glad to have Nabir at my elbow.
As the jumble of other languages floated by, I vowed to keep an ear out for German. I was betting it was the Germans who had set the trap last night, although I hadn’t the foggiest notion of how they would have learned I was in Cairo.
I followed Nabir as he led me through the maze of streets. High, close buildings loomed on either side and most of the windows were covered with a wooden trellis kind of thing. The skyline was pierced by scores of minarets that topped the many mosques peppering the city. I sighed in contentment. It all felt very foreign and adventurous. There were veiled women carrying jars on their heads and a shopkeeper working out of a doorway. I tried not to stare at the beggars running alongside the carriages pleading for baksheesh or sleeping on the nearby steps.
I had expected the dirt streets to be dusty, but they weren’t. They were muddy. Nabir explained that the streets were watered to keep the dust down. I couldn’t help but wonder why they felt dust was worse than mud. Personally, I think I would have preferred the dust.
When we finally reached the bazaar district, I gaped in amazement. The shops were tiny, and so crowded together they looked like cupboards, or maybe closets. There were pipe bowls and brass urns, saddles, and colorful Moroccan slippers hanging from poles. I was quite taken with an embroidered red pair with cheerful turned-up toes and wished I hadn’t spent all my money on the passage on the Rosetta Maru. The old shopkeeper saw me eyeing the slippers and gave me a toothless smile. He took one of them off the pole, then thrust it at me, saying something I couldn’t understand.
“He says little miss should try it on,” Nabir translated. “These finest of slippers will suit your bright-as-the-sun self.”
I smiled at the shopkeeper. I did rather fancy myself a turned-up-at-the-toes sort of person, and I was pleased he’d noticed. But I had to shake my head. “I’ve no money, Nabir,” I explained. “But tell him his slippers are as beautiful as, as…” I struggled for an appropriately grand compliment. “A thousand lotus blossoms.”
Instead of frowning and shooing me away like the shopkeepers in London would have, the kind man just gave me another grin and put the shoe back on the pole. He folded his hands inside his billowing black sleeves, content to let me browse.
Next we passed sweetmeats, then tobacco, then gold and silver trinkets as well as every color of silk imaginable, wrapped in brilliant bolts or hanging in colorful swags.
As we turned the next corner we had to step back sharply in order to avoid being run down by a large lady dressed in violet silk riding a round little donkey. Her dark eyes studied me above her veil, and I nodded my head in greeting.
When she had passed in a jingle of gold bracelets and silver bells, we continued down the street. There seemed to be nothing but carpets everywhere you looked. There were stacks and stacks of them piled higher than my shoulders, some hanging from the walls like curtains, others displayed on tables. And the colors! Every shade imaginable could be found in that street. The shopkeepers sat cross-legged amid their wares, talking among themselves and keeping an eye out for customers.
We turned on to the next street and Nabir grabbed my elbow, trying to get me to hurry past it. I stopped walking and peered down the narrow street to the jumble of stalls. “What’s down here, Nabir?”
“No good. Missy not go down there,” Nabir said firmly.
“But why?” I looked at him and stuck my chin out. If there was something interesting down there, I wanted to see it.
Nabir stepped forward and lowered his voice. “Artifacts for sale. Black market. Missy mother avoid them. Missy should, too.”
A real live black market—but of course I had to explore!
I reached out and patted his arm. “It will be just fine, Nabir. You’ll see.” I headed down the street, knowing Mum’s dragoman would have no choice but to follow. He did, cursing the whole time in very irate Arabic.
The street was crowded, like all the rest, but there were many more Europeans here. Tourists, most likely, all determined to come away from Egypt with some mysterious artifact as a souvenir.
I moved through this street much more slowly than the others. For one thing, with this many Europeans about, I wanted to keep an ear out for Germans. You would think they wouldn’t look much different from the British, but they did. I first noticed it back in the Seven Dials when I’d seen them following Stokes. Their posture was a little more rigid through the shoulders, as if they were marching in a military parade.
I took my time in each shop, examining the bits of pottery and stele fragments. They had an unending supply of these, each one claimed to be a long-lost piece of great value. There was also an enormous number of amulets. My hands positively itched to get ahold of them. There was a fetching little statue of Hathor, and quite a few of Isis, who was very popular. I recognized Osiris and Annubis, Thoth and Bastet. One man was selling an old mummified finger, claiming it had belonged to Ramses III.
As I examined the finger, the shopkeeper motioned to a large round Frenchman standing next to me. The Frenchman stepped closer and the shopkeeper whispered something in his ear. My French is appalling, as I’ve ignored it in favor of hieroglyphics, but I was fairly certain he said something about mummies. Of course! I’d heard that mummies were available on the black market. I inched closer to see if I could overhear.
Theodosia - The Serpents of Chaos Page 18