Everyone laughed.
“Exactly,” Carter said. “And even better, royal mummies.”
Ella knew about King Tut, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember if Howard Carter was the one who found him. The Boy King, she thought. Here’s where you get found and shown to the world after three thousand long years of obscurity. Again, she thought of Rowan. God, he would love to be here for this. And a faint sadness wafted over her in a steady wave that all the brandy and starry nights could not touch.
Cairo, 2013
Rowan stood at the bar at the Cairo Hilton and showed Ella’s photograph to the bartender. There was no question that Ella had stayed there. Rowan was just trying to fill in the gaps of her last day.
The bartender shook his head. He was a mocha-colored Egyptian with a long, thin face, a pointed beard and dark sad eyes. He regretted that he had not seen the efendim.
Rowan hadn’t expected him to. It was just the last possible line to explore before slamming into a jet-lagged stupor after a long day of travel followed by hours of trying to retrace Ella’s steps. He had spent the afternoon walking the residential streets of Old Cairo and wondering if she was being held against her will in one of the long rows of narrow houses that lined the streets. He spoke with the doorman at her hotel and several of the taxi cab drivers, none of whom remembered her.
As he stripped off his clothes to shower before bed, he tried to calm the part of his brain that usually was the most analytical and so, normally, the most helpful. Tonight it was only a torture to run through all the possible disasters that could have befallen Ella—starting with what might have been orchestrated by Maddie’s ex-fiancé, Gagan Gupta.
Rowan hadn’t wanted to bring up the possibility with Maddie, but it was the only part of Ella’s trip that had obvious sinister features. He had taken a taxi straight from Cairo International Airport to pay a visit to Mr. Gupta. The meeting had been brief enough. Gupta, himself, had been in the hospital with a burst appendix at the time that Ella disappeared. It was possible the man could have had others do his dirty work, Rowan didn’t think that likely. He had talked to a lot of accomplished liars in his time, confronted some of the lowest scum to ever line the bottom of a shoe. And while he planned to track down every possible lead connected to Gupta, his instinct told him they would not lead him to Ella.
As soon as he set foot in Cairo, he had been assailed by a certainty of feeling that Ella was no longer in the city. All the excuses or hopeful suppositions he might tell himself back in Dothan were useless here.
Somehow, he just knew. Ella wasn’t here.
After he emerged from the shower, he glanced at his cellphone and saw that a call had come in from Maddie. He tucked the phone under his chin and rang her back.
“Maddie? You called?”
“Rowan, honey, I forgot something El told me that might not be important…”
“What is it?” Rowan interrupted. In his experience, it was always the bit of information that didn’t sound important that was the missing piece.
“The souvenir she said she was going to pick up for you? I just remembered that she did tell me what it was.”
“And that was…?”
“She said she was going to go get the Book of the Dead. I remember now, because she said it was kind of creepy and I thought at the time, ‘well, if you know it’s not such a great souvenir why go? Just grab a Sphinx keychain at the airport and come with me!’ You know? But I thought it must have been something you had mentioned you were interested in. Is that it?”
The Book of the Dead? Rowan was bewildered. “No,” he said, wondering how in the world this information could be helpful. “But thanks, Maddie. That’s a big help.”
“Just bring her back, Rowan.” Maddie said, with a strong calm voice. “Just please find her safe and bring her home. I have enough guilt to deal with for one lifetime just handling the fallout with my family over Gagan without adding losing my best friend on top of it.”
“I’ll find her,” he said gruffly. After he hung up, he looked out the window into the glow of the light pollution surrounding the hotel like a mystical fog.
The next morning, Rowan took a taxi to Old Cairo where Maddie said Ella had gone to find her souvenir. The shops that lined the pedestrian walkway were a mishmash of hookah shops, coffee shops, and souvenir stands. He tried to imagine what Ella would have thought as she walked down this same row. He looked at the merchants, all of them Egyptians and most of them male, and tried to imagine how they must have seen her.
Did they openly stare at her? They would have responded differently to her—a petite, attractive Western woman on her own—than they were responding to him. As he walked, most got eye contact with him, some grinned, one or two waved to him to come closer. Would they have been this bold with a lone woman?
He entered one shop that appeared to be an ancient bookstore, its shelves were lined with old volumes and pottery and what looked to him like fake antiquities. An overweight middle aged man approached him from behind the counter and laid his hands out in front of him.
“May I help you, effendi?” he asked, his voice rolling and soft like the beginning of a purr.
“I am looking for an item,” Rowan said. He smiled warmly but was his eyes were cold and serious. “Do you know where I can find something called The Book of the Dead?”
The man smiled at Rowan showing two gold teeth top and bottom in the front of his mouth.
“The Book of the Dead,” he said. “This can be found in our very excellent Cairo Museum. Perhaps you have been there? It is very popular with all tourists.”
“I am not looking for a museum artifact. I was told that I could purchase this Book of the Dead.”
“You were misled, effendi,” the man said, his eyes darting behind Rowan as someone came into the store. “All artifacts are protected by the state. No one may own or sell such a thing.”
He thinks I am the police, Rowan thought.
“I see,” he said. “Well, you’re right. I guess I was mistaken.” As he turned to leave the store, a beautiful older woman stepped up to him and held a hand out to stop him. She wore a scarf that covered her hair and throat but her eyes were large and expressive and her smile wide and generous.
“Wa 'alaykum as-salām,” she said to him.
“Ma-am,” Rowan said putting his hand up to a nonexistent hat in salute.
“I am Yeena,” she said, her eyes glittering with pleasure at the sight of him.
He frowned and turned to look back at the man behind the counter, but the shopkeeper had disappeared. Rowan looked at the woman in confusion.
“Are you mistaking me for someone?” he asked.
“I am sure not,” she said. “You are looking for your wife, are you not? I knew you would come.”
Chapter Ten
Valley of the Kings 1922
Ella sat on her pony and stiffened her spine, forcing her heels down into the stirrups as if that would root her—and her unpredictable little mount—at the top of the rocky hill where William had stationed her. He had promised her a special view of the world that few white people ever get to see and she was determined not to break her neck falling down the sheer cliffs on all sides before she did.
They had arrived at camp late the night before. Because Carter hadn’t known ahead of time that there would be an extra person to accommodate, she and Julia had to share a tent. Ella was so exhausted that she would’ve shared a tent with Abdullah if it meant she could close her eyes and lie down.
When the morning came, she woke to a world of promise and beauty, of light and excitement. While Julia refused to leave their tent before a cup of tea was brought to her, Ella was pulling on yesterday’s stained, worn dress to greet the day. William met her at the main cookfire in the center of the camp and handed her a china cup of freshly brewed tea with sugar.
“If Efendim will wait but a moment,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of Julia’s tent to convey his need to bring
her ladyship her tea. “I want to show you a special perspective on the Valley of the Kings.”
So it was literally before she had had her first meal at Carter’s camp, that Ella saw the whole operation spread before her as she watched the sun rise behind the rock cliffs illuminate the western mountains in a glorious hallelujah of golden light and glory. She could see the tombs that had been dug into the rock wall of the surrounding hills. The center of the stony valley looked like a giant quarry excavation with just a few palm trees visible in the small sections of fields not dominated by rock and sand.
As early as it was, workers from the villages were already at work removing sand from the foundations of the temples, using hoes and picks to loosen the rock and shoveling debris into baskets which were then carried away by small boys. The children dumped the baskets of sand and rubble into coal carts parked on parallel tracks that, once full, were then hand-guided by men running on either side down the hills to a great pile of sand and debris, presumably set there so as not to compromise future excavations. As the carts spilled their contents onto the huge mountain of sand and rock, great clouds of dust rose in the air and wafted back to coat the valley in an obscuring grit.
Ella marveled at how quickly the workers—dressed in rags and long flowing robes—ran across the hard rocky surfaces in their bare feet, oblivious to the sharp stones and pebbles that must have punished them with every step.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected from Howard Carter’s site but the size and magnitude of this operation stunned her. There appeared to be a thousand men and boys working in the valley below. No wonder he depended on Lord Carnarvon’s support. An operation this size had to be expensive. On the way up the hill, William had told her that Carter had been digging in this spot for nearly eight years.
William moved to Ella and put his hand on her pony’s bridle. William wore a dark blue hijab around his face to protect against the relentless dust and wind. He motioned to Ella to don the scarf he had given her earlier that morning and to wrap it in the same way.
“Is extraordinary, no?” he said, clearly proud of what he was showing her.
“It’s incredible,” Ella said. “Is all this Carter’s operation?”
“No, no, efendim, there are many who dig in the Valley of the Kings.”
“Well, it’s impressive, I’ll say that. My…husband would love to see this.”
“Excuse me, Madaam, I did not realize you were married.”
“Well, it’s kind of a secret, William. If you don’t mind, don’t say anything.”
William gave a sort of snort. “It is not for me to speak,” he said.
Ella had a flash of sympathy for him. Obviously educated, a Christian in a Muslim world, he often received less respect than the bullheads crewing the luxury dahabiyas.
“Is your family near here, William?”
He looked at her as if shocked she would care to know. “Yes, Madaam,” he said. “My wife and two boys. In the village on the east side of Luxor.”
Ella found herself hoping Digby paid him decently. It was a hell of a life being separated from your family in order to provide for them.
Later that day, a separate tent was arranged for Ella. When she entered it to freshen up before lunch, she saw a pair of trousers and what looked like a man’s linen shirt had been laid out on her camp bed. Before she could examine them, Julia entered, fanning herself, and collapsed in the large canvas camp chair inside the tent.
“Where in the world did you get to before breakfast?” she asked peevishly.
“Why?” Ella asked, pulling aside the mosquito net jto sit down on her bed. “Did you want me to do your hair or something?”
Julia gasped and touched her hair, which was twisted up in a neat chignon. She patted it as if to confirm that it was still there. “What’s the matter with my hair?”
“Nothing, Julia,” Ella said. “Just teasing. You look gorgeous. You look like you just stepped out of a tea salon on Bond Street. Cool, demure and every hair in place.”
“Whereas you, Ella, look like you have been fighting wild monkeys for the possession of your hat. Already your nose is burnt and it’s not yet noon.”
“Do I have you to thank for the pants?”
Julia shrugged. “Some of the women at the other sites, I’m told, wear trousers to be more comfortable. I had them made for both of us in Cairo.” Julia wore her usual full length dress and billowing underskirt.
“Thank you, Julia. They’re perfect.”
“I knew you would like them since they’re not that different from the clothes I found you in.”
Changing the subject, Ella loosened the top buttons of her blouse.
“Is there a private place to bathe?” she asked. “I’d like to clean up before lunch.”
“Of course,” Julia said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll have William bring you a basin to your tent.”
“Better than nothing,” Ella said, unbuttoning her sleeves. “And a washcloth?”
“Even soap if you insist,” Julia said, smiling.
“Where’s your husband located?” Ella said fanning herself in the heat of the tent. “I still can’t believe he lets you have your own tent.”
“Since it is my money that has made this trip possible, including the accommodations,” Julia said, “he has little to say about it.”
Ella frowned. “The Viscount doesn’t have his own money?”
“It is amazing to me the liberties you take with your questions!” Julia stood up and straightened the kirtle of her bodice with sharp jerks.
Ella sighed. In her brief experience with Lady Julia, she knew that the indignation would soon give way to a desire to share her woes with her new friend—as odd as Ella considered her to be. Ella reached over to pick up a hairbrush from the wooden crate next to her bed while she waited.
Sure enough, Julia sat back down. “He is making hints,” she said.
“I’m not surprised.”
“How can I put him off?” Julia wailed. “I recoil at the very thought of his touch.”
“Look, Julia, is this just wedding night jitters magnified a hundred fold or are you really wishing you weren’t married to the dude?”
“I told you,” Julia said in a whisper. “I made a terrible mistake.”
“Then get it annulled.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Really? Then, okay, let’s kill him. Knife or firearms? I’m squeamish. Can you do it and I’ll just say you were with me at the time of the murder?”
Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “I need your help, Ella,” she said, miserably.
Ella ran a hand through her hair which, by the distracted reaction from Julia, probably didn’t improve it.
“Can you talk to him, Julia?”
“And tell him what?”
“Well, clearly, he already knows there’s a problem. You’ve been married two months and he hasn’t even seen you in your knee socks yet. Talk to him.”
“I don’t want to work this out, Ella.” Julia said.
“Then get it annulled.”
“You don’t understand. I would be a laughingstock. I could never go home again. It’s unthinkable.”
“More unthinkable than getting between the sheets with the Viscount?”
Julia gave her a look of horror.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And short of killing him, that’s your best choice.”
“Women sleep with husbands they don’t love all the time,” Julia said unconvincingly.
“Well, presumably they at least started out loving them.”
“I have a friend whose husband only requests a night’s visit only once every full moon.”
“God save the British,” Ella said, shaking her head. “If you think you can handle doing it that much, maybe you can arrange something with him. But once that’s solved, can you live with him the rest of the time? You practically never even speak to each other.”
“We won’t have to. We can lead separat
e lives for the most part. I am sure that will not be a problem.” A look of determination came over Julia’s face. “I can do this. My mother told me it would take bravery.”
“Wow. Thanks, Mom,” Ella said. “No wonder you weren’t looking forward to your wedding night.”
Lunch was a formal affair at a long table topped with a starched white tablecloth. While she recognized that labor was cheap in 1922 Egypt, it still amazed Ella that such delicate civility could exist in the dusty, wind-whipped setting. China plates and silverware graced the table. Servants continually swept the dust from the table.
The British, Ella found herself thinking as she seated herself at lunch. A canopy stretched over the table but it was still hot in the shade. She imagined the only work getting done in the middle of the day was happening inside the cool, dark tombs. But no, William had said that the constant digging and removal of debris would go on nonstop until dark.
Lunch was filleted fish with a light and spicy sauce and fresh vegetables. There was a bottle of excellent wine. Carter was still busy at the site where he had been since early morning. Unfortunately, that meant only Ella, Julia and Digby were at lunch. It was an uncomfortable, silent meal.
Ella had changed into the riding clothes—for that’s how Julia referred to them—and enjoyed the looks of disapproval Digby directed at her with virtually every forkful. Carter had said she could have the use of the pony she’d ridden that morning and she was anxious to explore the perimeter of the dig site after lunch. She had ridden competitively as a teenager and she was still a confident rider—especially now that she was appropriately dressed.
After lunch, with regrets from William whose chores demanded he stay in the camp, she added a calfskin of water to her saddle and, with general directions from William and a shake of the head from Julia, she left for an afternoon ride. Ella had not ridden twenty minutes before she realized that she was in love with this country. Even the rocky expanse of the dig site—as unattractive and forbidding as a moonscape—gave her a feeling of peace and contentment. She rode the base of the valley first, staying well away from the workers and their growing mountain of debris. Because there were so many places that could be inadvertently harmed by her pony’s hooves, she eventually urged him up the steep hills opposite her morning vantage point.
Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) Page 9