The Alexandria Affair

by Ashley Gardner

  I saw the very blond heads of Matthias and Bartholomew among the black of the Egyptians’ as they helped haul buckets of water. Brewster had joined those with the poles, his bulk framed against the glare of fire.

  I pushed my way to Brewster. “Where’s Grenville?” I bellowed at him.

  Brewster’s coat was gashed and stained with blood, his hair singed. He peered at me from worried eyes in a sweat-streaked face. “Don’t know, guv. I barely got out.”

  I scanned the crammed street and found no sign of Grenville, then I looked at the burning house in horror.

  I imagined Grenville inside, trapped, trying to keep his sangfroid even then. “Ah well,” he’d say. “I suppose it is time to lay down my cards.”

  “Bloody hell,” I said under my breath.

  I pushed past Brewster and moved at a dead run toward the house.

  Brewster couldn’t stop me. It was Marcus who pulled me up short before I plunged through the burning doorway.

  “What the devil are you doing?” he shouted at me.

  I shook him off and kept going. There was a time for explaining what a friend meant to one and a time to run into a burning house to save him.

  I’d taken three steps inside, my breath stolen by the heat, when a man stumbled out of the flames, eyes wide, hair nearly burned off. I recognized Vanni, our sometime interpreter.

  Right behind him, urging him onward, was Grenville. His face had been blackened by smoke and soot, and the back of his coat was on fire.

  I shoved Vanni toward Marcus, grabbed Grenville by both arms, and hauled him out into the street. Two heartbeats later, the entire house collapsed.

  I slammed Grenville onto the ground, ripping his coat from him as he fell. I slapped sparks from Grenville’s back then beat the coat against the ground until the flames were out. His waistcoat and shirt were covered with black pockmarks, but they hadn’t caught.

  Grenville sat up, breathing heavily. “Damn it all,” he managed, voice rasping. “I had that coat made in Milan.”

  “What the bloody hell were you still doing in there?” I roared at him.

  Grenville blinked. “Trying to find my way out, of course. Stumbled upon my old friend Vanni holed up in a back room. Thought I’d rescue the ungrateful sod.”

  “Damn you.” I had my hands on my knees, my breath labored. “I was imagining the worst.”

  “I hadn’t given up yet.” Grenville gave me a nod, dignified in spite of his red eyes, streaming face, and ragged hair. “It was kind of you to try to find me.” He scowled. “But bloody stupid.”

  “Completely mad.” Marcus had left Vanni to stand over us. “You’d have both died.”

  “I thought your object was to kill me,” I said to Marcus, straightening up. “Pushing me into the flames would have accomplished that.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind,” Marcus growled.

  “He kept you alive because he wants something,” Grenville concluded. “If you help me up, Lacey, I suggest we adjourn to our own house and find out what.”

  * * *

  We made our slow and painful way home. The fire burned behind us, and we kept a careful lookout for Sharkey or any of his men as we went, but we did not see them.

  I did not think Sharkey would give up on me because his house had burned. In fact, I imagined he’d become more dangerous than ever.

  Matthias and Bartholomew had stayed behind to help. Brewster, on the other hand, stuck to his first mission, protecting me, and hobbled home with us.

  Our servants were distressed to see us return beaten and burned, and rallied around to supply food and drink. One man presented us with salves he swore would have us cured by morning.

  The worst of us was Brewster, who’d taken the brunt of the fighting, but he refused to go to bed while Marcus stood in our drawing room. He at least conceded to sit down, as did Grenville. Grenville had removed his ruined clothes and donned a loose shirt and trousers, throwing a flowing banyan over it all.

  I faced Marcus in the middle of the room, gazing at him in silence. I had no idea what to say to the man. All my anger, my questions, my shock, had dried up with the fire, leaving me wordless.

  Marcus only stared back at me, his brows drawn. He’d been burned on one side of his face, a streak of angry red marring his sunbaked skin.

  It was Grenville who broke the tension. “Well,” he said. “We know that Sharkey didn’t have the book. What about you, Mr. Lacey?”

  Marcus turned his hard stare to Grenville. “Do you think I’d have argued with the man if I’d known where it was?”

  “Yes, I do,” Grenville returned calmly. “I doubt you’d have told a man like Sharkey where a priceless Alexandrian book was, no matter how much he threatened you. More important that you keep it to lord it over Lacey—our Captain Lacey, that is.”

  “You’re a bloody fool then,” Marcus snapped. “If I had the book, I’d already be on a ship bound for England, to present it to the Regent or Wellington or someone else prominent in return for helping me prove who I am.”

  “I don’t think you would, actually,” Grenville said with shrewd assessment. “You could easily hire a solicitor to assist with that—no need for a grand gesture. Long lost relatives are fairly common in England, as a matter of fact. The world is full of perils. The question is, where is the book?”

  “I tell you, I don’t know.” The edge in Marcus’s voice made me believe him. “I meant to search the boat of Chabert’s mistress, but that fellow Sharkey nabbed me. His men dragged me to his house, thinking I was you.” Marcus turned to regard me with deep anger. “Imagine Sharkey’s delight when he thought he could use me as bait to catch you.”

  I cleared my throat, which was still raw from smoke. “I heard you tell him I’d never come for you.”

  “And why should you?” Marcus looked me up and down. “If Sharkey killed me, that would be the end of your problem.”

  “Interesting that everyone has said that but me,” I returned in a mild tone.

  “Why would you not want me dead?” Marcus demanded. “I have done nothing but hurt you since I went to England in search of you.”

  “Because, Mr. Sharkey, of all people, was right about one thing,” I said. “Family. If you truly are my cousin—son of an uncle I never knew I had—then that means something to me. I do not leave my family to die at the hands of a ruffian, no matter what they’ve done. I have so little family, I must cling to every fragment I find.”

  “You’re a fool then,” Marcus said, voice hard.

  “So you have said. I’m inclined to believe you don’t have the book, though you have been searching for it. What did you hope to find out in the desert the afternoon we saw you?”

  Color flooded Marcus’s face, making the burn mark look more raw. “That has nothing to do with you or your bloody book.”

  “Entrance to a tomb?” I asked. “Why did you think it was there?”

  “Why I poke about in the sand is my business,” Marcus said with swift anger. “That day, you were hunting me.”

  “Of course I was,” I said. “I wanted to shake answers out of you. You found a hole, a tunnel. Is it the way into a tomb? Or a shaft back to something else? A monument no one else has found?”

  Marcus’s eyes shone with rage. “Can you leave me anything at all? You cheated me out of my inheritance by being born and then not dying in all the battles you fought. Will nothing kill you?”

  “I’m simply good at not being where bullets and sword blades are,” I answered calmly. “I’ll have you know, I obtained permission to dig in that area. Would you like to know what we’ve found?”

  “Nothing.” Marcus faced me, as though forgetting there were others in the room. “I know you found nothing. The tale I heard was that thieves used the tunnels to burrow through the earth to the burial chambers of the pyramids, but I realized that the hole is too far away. It’s a rumor, nothing more, but damn it all, it was my rumor. Will you take everything from me?”

 
; Chapter 24

  I stepped to him, the two of us the same height, my heart beating rapidly. “I told you, if you want that wreck of a house in Norfolk, you are welcome to it. If you slam the front door too hard, the entire edifice might fall down. If you wish to know what we found at your tunnel, I was about to offer to show you. But perhaps I should give you to the magistrates for repeatedly trying to kill me instead.”

  “Can you blame me?” Marcus’s eyes were on level with mine. “You go on about family, but yours took everything from me, starting with my own father. I was raised by a dour Protestant who thought hard work and spartan living was the way to virtue. I had to work doubly hard, he told me, because I was tainted by my grandmother’s Indian blood. He wanted to save my soul for my father’s sake. I’d rather have had my father, thank you. But yours took him away from me.”

  “My father was a horrible, cruel, and petty bastard,” I returned. “I was punished every day of my life for simply being alive. I think I’ve paid the price you wanted me to pay, long ago.”

  “That does not give my father back to me,” Marcus said, voice harsh.

  “Neither does it make what my father did to me easier to bear.”

  We glared at each other, the rest of the room silent. I was breathing hard, leaning toward Marcus, and his breath was as loud as mine.

  I coughed, breaking off to turn apologetically to Grenville. “I beg your pardon,” I said stiffly. “I did not mean for you to listen to our grievances.”

  “Not at all.” Grenville had leaned back, fingertips touching. “I am enjoying myself. It is like watching a man in a mirror. But if we are to go back out to the desert tomorrow, I suggest we rest. Mr. Lacey, will you accept our hospitality and give us your word you will stay quietly? Or shall we lock you in a bedroom, as Mr. Sharkey did, and let you out again in the morning?”

  * * *

  Marcus agreed to stay, to my surprise. I supposed he thought it the best way to discover what we had found.

  The next morning, as I waited for the guards to escort me to the palace, I was approached by a lone Turkish soldier who bowed to me with great civility and handed me a note.

  In a fine hand, in perfect English, the letter told me that it was no longer necessary for me to instruct the pasha’s cavalrymen. The lessons were at an end.

  I read this with great disappointment. Had the pasha heard about my involvement in last night’s fire and decided it more diplomatic that I stayed away? Or perhaps he simply felt that I had taught his officers all I could and my visits were no longer necessary.

  I was saddened. I’d enjoyed riding and talking with the cavalrymen, one of the finest things about this sojourn.

  Matthias and Bartholomew had returned home earlier this morning, exhausted but relieved. The fire had consumed five houses in the lane but hadn’t spread to the rest of the city. They collapsed into bed, and we let them sleep while we headed out for the desert.

  My canceled lessons at least allowed us to leave in the cool of the morning, which meant we’d have more time to explore before the heat of the day. Marcus walked skeptically with us to the river, our one-eyed ferryman in his tiny raft taking us across. On the other side, we continued on foot.

  Grenville set up his pavilion near the pyramids as he had done every day, and we refreshed ourselves with food and coffee before we strolled out into the desert, pretending we were simply taking in the sights.

  Brewster seemed none the worse for wear from the night before, though he wore a bandage on his shoulder beneath his coat. He shrugged off his hurts, stating that the only thing that had laid him low in recent years had been a shot in the gut. He pinned Marcus with a hard gaze as he said this, and Marcus frowned back at him.

  I had worn my turban against the sun, finding it very efficient for keeping my head cool. Marcus’s clothes had been ruined, and he hadn’t had time to send for his things, so he’d chosen to wear the galabiya that had been made for me. He strode with swift ease as he walked beside me.

  We moved down the arroyo and up the other bank as we’d done before, at last finding the place where we’d dug the evening before last. I had been worried that I’d not find the square opening I’d uncovered at the base of the hill, but I had marked it well.

  Brewster carried a pack with more tools than we’d brought before, and soon he and I were digging away the dirt we’d filled in. I tapped the stone when we found it with the end of my spade.

  “It’s manmade, I’m certain of it,” I said, my excitement mounting. “Something more than a thieves’ tunnel, perhaps.”

  Marcus crouched down, his darkened skin and galabiya making him look very Egyptian. “Perhaps.” He did not sound convinced. “Many of these tunnels go nowhere—have been blocked by cave-ins, or else the thieves gave up digging before they reached anything.”

  Brewster brushed sand aside with a gloved hand. “Nothing for it but Captain Lacey will want to see,” he said, sounding more resigned than exasperated. “And then he’ll dutifully hand over all the treasure he does find. It’s the sort of bloke he is.”

  I gave him a disparaging look. “It’s the finding of the things that is the fascinating part. Not the keeping of them.”

  “Huh. So you say.”

  Brewster continued to brush away the sand, his movements brisk, eyes alight. He was interested too, though he’d never admit it.

  Grenville was not as reticent. “Well, let us get in there and see what we can see. I did not wriggle my way into that other foul hole to turn back now. I want to find something besides bats.”

  “That is why I’ve brought Marcus,” I said. “I want to hear these rumors you were told. What made you look where you did?”

  Marcus heaved a sigh. “I purchased a map.” He drew it now, with his finger in the sand. It included the tunnel Grenville had found, which dropped away to a large chamber—where the bats had been. Two more tunnels ran parallel to the first, both leading to a square chamber below and to the right of the cave.

  Marcus pointed to one of the tunnels. “This opening might be to this shaft here. But as I say, there is probably nothing in it. The Egyptian in Alexandria who told me the tale might have been exaggerating. He certainly made a show of being secretive, but I am certain he was only trying to pique my interest.”

  I studied Marcus’s drawing, which Grenville then copied into his sketchbook. Real or not, it seemed a reasonable guess at the layout of a tomb and tunnels to reach it. The antiquities sold all over Cairo had to come from somewhere.

  Today Grenville had brought with him a roll of canvas and folding wooden poles, which he and Brewster set up to give us a bit of shade. The temperature rose as we continued to dig, clearing the hole.

  I pushed the debris we took from it into a careful pile to one side, planning to look through it later. Who knew what a thief might have dropped when he’d run away several thousand years ago?

  We dug for hours. Grenville, who’d designated himself as our timekeeper, stopped us for water, food, and rest throughout the day, but other than that, we simply worked.

  The task kept us silent. Whatever would happen with Marcus I did not know—my choices were either embracing him and conceding all he claimed or prosecuting him for attempted murder and his assault on Brewster.

  Such considerations fell away in the face of our task. Brewster worked side-by-side with Marcus without a word.

  We cleared away plenty of rubble by sundown to reveal a square opening at the base of the five-foot-high bluff.

  Grenville had his lantern ready and passed it into the hole. I caught my breath as the light picked out the uniform beauty of hieroglyphs. I reached forward and touched one, marveling that someone had cut this thousands of years ago.

  “Pity we can’t read them,” Grenville said. “It might be a thieves’ code for dead end ahead.”

  “No,” I said with certainty. “These were carved with care. A thief would scratch an X or some such. They likely couldn’t read the hieroglyphs any more than we
can.”

  “Agreed,” Brewster said. “Thieves leave marks no one knows but men in their own gang. They’d not make a sign for the rest of the world.”

  “Of course it’s a tomb entrance,” Marcus said, examining the hieroglyphs, sounding as excited as I was. “Why else would it be decorated? But it might simply lead to tomb that has already been excavated or robbed. I understood that before I began my search. But I was curious.”

  Avid curiosity was another Lacey failing. I hardly cared whether this tomb had already been found, and apparently Marcus did not either.

  I ran my hands over the hieroglyphs again, as though touching them could convey their meaning. The beetle was used often, as was the hawk, and what looked like the seated form of a girl.

  Gathering twilight was our enemy once more. In a few moments, I could no longer make out the symbols.

  “We should cover it up again,” Grenville said. “Too dangerous to try to explore more in dark. We’ll return tomorrow with more men and dig through.”

  “Better camp here,” Marcus advised. “Tomb robbers still abound, and excavators can play dirty tricks on one another. Word is that Drovetti will pay thieves to cut into tombs and take things out, damn who has the firman.”

  “I agree,” Grenville said. “I’ll go back to Cairo and return with camping gear and Bartholomew and Matthias, who would be incensed to miss this.”

  Marcus said nothing. He sat down in the dirt and drank water, wiping the droplets from his mouth.

  We agreed that Grenville should go while Brewster, Marcus, and I remained at the site. The three of us sat under the pavilion and ate a small meal while we waited. We didn’t speak, perhaps each of us knowing that any conversation we began we likely spark a violent argument.

  I wasn’t much interested in quarrels at the moment. I had an ancient monument at my fingertips. Whether it proved to have treasure in it or to have already been emptied didn’t matter. The thrill of the hunt, of the finding, had fired my blood.