Daughter of the God-King (10 page)

Exiting into the clerk’s antechamber, Hattie rejoined Bing and resisted the urge to depart with all speed, instead pausing to bid a friendly farewell to the young man who hovered, awaiting an opportunity to take her hand yet again. As Hattie descended the steps to the first floor she looked immediately for Berry, who stood on the crowded walkway out front, waiting for her with a watchful eye. Taking his proffered arm, she offered in a dry tone, “Such an amiable creature—it is a shame his face is disfigured.”

As they began their progress down the bazaars he took a sharp look around. “What did he say?”

Glancing up at him sidelong, she quizzed, “Oh—so now I am to tell you?”

He rendered a small smile. “Yes.”

She allowed her exasperation to show. “Why? You tell me
nothing
.”

Tilting his head, he checked to ensure that Bing was not within earshot and then closed his arm so that her hand was pressed tightly to his side. “What would you like to know?”

“What is your true name?”

He considered the question in silence and she was curious to see what he would say, as he was making his professed attempt to be honest with her. “It is not Berry.”

“I am unsurprised, my friend. Can’t you say?”

With sincere regret, he met her gaze with his own. “No. I cannot.”

While she was preparing another, less controversial question she was hailed from the crowd. “Miss Blackhouse! I beg a moment—please.”

She turned in surprise to see that she was approached by a stout Egyptian man wearing a white linen suit and a red fez, vigorously waving at her.

“Mr. Hafez, the Minister of Antiquities,” Berry said in her ear.

She smiled in greeting but said in a low voice, “Friend or foe?”

He shook his head. “I cannot say,” and Hattie was left to wonder if this was because he truly didn’t know or because he didn’t wish to tell her.

Stopping before her, the panting man took her hand in both of his. “Miss Blackhouse—I am truly honored to make your acquaintance. I asked at the hotel and I took the liberty of searching for you.”

Unfortunately, the man’s hands were damp and Hattie hid a twinge of distaste. “How may I be of service, sir?”

Flourishing a handkerchief, the minister paused to recover his breath, mopping the perspiration from his brow. “A regrettable business—may I beg a moment of your time?”

After introductions were performed, they adjourned to a nearby café where lemonade was procured for the ladies. Hattie was then required to listen patiently while Hafez expressed his sincere admiration for her parents and his gratified feelings upon making her acquaintance. He then concluded, “I am sorry to intrude, Miss Blackhouse, but I am at a loss and I am hoping you may be of assistance.”

Deeply regretting the interruption of her conversation with Berry, Hattie tried to urge the talkative man to the point. “Do you wish to speak of my parents’ disappearance?”

The other sighed hugely, his massive chest rising and falling so that Hattie feared for his buttons. “Indeed. I have secured the site, but am now at a loss. Have you had any communication with them that would shed light on what has happened?”

Hattie did not answer the question directly, but instead shook her head. “I have just come from their solicitor’s office and he has already quizzed me on that subject at length, I’m afraid.”

Crestfallen, the gentleman emanated another huge sigh and shifted his over-large frame in the small café chair. “It is a true mystery,” he noted sadly. “Such wonderful people.”

Witnessing his severe disappointment, Hattie was struck by a thought. “Do you report to Muhammad Ali—is it he who holds authority over the site?”

“Indeed,” he nodded, spreading his hands. “Although it is a delicate business, at present. There are vying concerns…” His voice trailed off.

Hattie nodded in turn and was forced to reconsider her half-formed theory—it would seem that if her parents were killed for double-dealing with the British behind Ali’s back, his minister would probably not be chasing her down in the street, obviously distraught and eager to unearth the particulars. Perhaps her theory was not a valid one, then.

“An unsettling situation,” the minister mused as he sadly studied his hands. “Most unfortunate.”

Hattie noted that Berry offered no contribution, and it occurred to her he rarely did—choosing always to listen, instead. In the absence of any guidance from his corner, she decided to test her other theories. “Did any artifacts go missing along with my parents?”

Shocked, Hafez assured her, “Your parents would never steal the artifacts, Miss Blackhouse—unthinkable.”

“You misunderstand,” Hattie quickly corrected him. “I wondered if perhaps theft was the object and my parents were casualties of a random crime.”

Straightening up, it appeared the minister was affronted by the implied insult. “The site is very secure—more secure than most. I have my best men standing guard—the Blackhouses deserved no less—and there have been no reports of attempted theft.”

“I understand,” offered Bing to soothe him, “that the princess’s tomb has a dearth of artifacts to begin with.”

The minister turned in his chair and regarded Bing for the first time. “That is true,” he admitted, showing some surprise that she would be aware. “And as it does not appear the tomb has been raided, perhaps the princess’s gender and age would explain the lack of riches.”

“Although I do believe there were several Isisian pieces of exquisite workmanship.” Bing apparently felt a need to mitigate the perceived slight against the anonymous princess.

“Indeed, fair lady; I have heard the same from those on site.” Recognizing a fellow enthusiast, the minister smiled upon Bing, and then saddened again. “But by all reports the Blackhouses have vanished without a trace and the status of the tomb is in limbo. I am nearly beside myself”—he turned to Hattie in apology—“which is why I must press you, Miss Blackhouse; if you have any information—even if it seems of little importance, I must ask that you share it with me.”

Hattie knit her brow in puzzlement—not only from the startling discovery that anyone would describe Bing as a “fair lady,” but also from the complete absence of any information surrounding her parents’ disappearance. “It does seem very strange that no one has come forward—they were very recognizable people, after all. Surely someone must know something.”

The minister leaned forward. “Perhaps you can be of influence, Miss Blackhouse.”

This was what Berry had intimated—she could make a personal appeal for information as the bereft daughter. “Yes—I will help in any way I can.”

The party sat in silence for a moment, Hafez drumming his fingers on the table, deep in thought. “Your ring,” observed Bing. “Is it a sacred scarab?”

“Yes.” He took it off and handed it over for her inspection. “A cat’s eye sapphire, recovered from the statue of Osiris in Abu Simbel.”

Bing examined it reverently and Hattie decided her conversation with Berry could wait; Bing had found an unexpected admirer. Feigning interest, she listened with half an ear as the two discussed the artifacts found in the main temple at Abu Simbel, many years ago. Across the narrow street she noted the man in the turban from the day before, leaning in a doorway and smoking, watching her. Hattie turned to Berry and indicated the man with a tilt of her head. “Have you an acquaintanceship with that gentleman?”

Light brown eyes met hers. “Which gentleman is that, mademoiselle?”

Hattie turned but discovered that the turbaned man had disappeared. “Ah—he has left. Perhaps his name is not Berry, also.”

“I would not be surprised. You were going to tell me of your conversation with the solicitor.”

“Which conversation is that, monsieur?”

But he was in no mood for teasing. “These are dangerous people,” he reminded her quietly. “Make no mistake.”

Suddenly exasperated, she retorted, “But I am not to know who they are or why they are dangerous or what any of this has to do with me. I will hear no more of your dire warnings, if you please.” Angrily, she turned a shoulder on him.

Bing glanced at her in surprise and Hattie realized she had spoken out too loudly. Subsiding, she refused to look at Berry and tried to pay attention to the tiresome details under discussion—for the love of
heaven
, what difference did any of it make? It was thirty centuries ago—let the poor girl molder in her tomb and have done. Realizing that Bing was hastily gathering her things in preparation to depart, she was ashamed of herself for interrupting her companion’s
tête-à-tête
with her new admirer and so to repair this lapse she asked, “Will you visit the pyramids, Bing? Perhaps Mr. Hafez can make a recommendation.”

“Assuredly,” the minister beamed as he contemplated Bing. “I will insist upon organizing a private tour for you—I can see to it that you will receive every consideration. Would tomorrow be too soon?”

“I’m afraid I am too fatigued,” confessed Hattie, who had never been fatigued in her life. “I intend to catch up on my correspondence tomorrow in my room.”

Bing firmly delivered her regrets. “Thank you, Mr. Hafez, but I am a companion to Miss Blackhouse and I cannot leave her unattended.”

Taking her cue, Hattie urged, “Please go ahead, Bing. I will stay indoors and do some reading—I truly do not intend to go out tomorrow.” Definitely nowhere with any overly secretive and extremely vexing persons who did not hail from France; that went without saying.

Bing was thus persuaded and despite her annoyance with him, Hattie shot an amused glance at Berry as her companion took the minister’s proffered arm when they began to head back to the hotel. He leaned down to remark, “Here is an unexpected turn of events.”

Hattie unbent enough to comment, “Perhaps I shall be called upon to chaperone my chaperone.”

“She would tell him nothing she shouldn’t?”

Thinking it over, Hattie realized there was every possibility. Setting aside her pique, she conceded, “Perhaps. Edward relayed some information in confidence.”

“You might wish to caution her, then,” he advised, his expression unreadable.

Hattie eyed him. “Are you saying the Egyptian minister is another to be included in your lengthy list of dangerous people?”

“At the risk of incurring your wrath again, I will only say it is best to remain cautious.”

Hattie made a sound of extreme impatience, but said nothing further. She regretted losing her temper with him and knew she was on edge because she wasn’t certain what to do; she had been pinning her now-dashed hopes on her parents’ loathsome solicitor and to add to her dilemma, the mysterious strongbox had apparently made an appearance.

“What is it?” he asked softly, watching her.

“Nothing,” she replied, and wished it were true.

“We may have solved the problem of what is to be done with you, Bing.”

Her companion, always straightforward, did not pretend to misunderstand the reference. “A very nice man—we have a common interest, is all.” Hattie could not help but note that the other’s cheeks were a bit pink.

They were preparing for bed in their chamber after spending a satisfactory afternoon exploring the bazaars and making a few frivolous purchases. Berry had been in dutiful attendance and had taken every opportunity to guide Hattie with a hand on the small of her back on those occasions when Bing was unable to observe such a maneuver. There had been no mention of the solicitor, her missing parents, or the tedious mummy and as a result of this combination of happy events Berry was now back in her good graces.

“Are the plans to see the pyramids in train?” Hattie had a keen interest in the excursion; she gauged that with Bing in distant Giza she would hopefully soon feel more than Berry’s warm hand on her back. It has been seven days since his apology on the ship and she was aware, in the way that women are, that his self-imposed restraint was fast coming to an end.

With a brisk movement, Bing shook out her coverlet. “Yes—we are to meet downstairs tomorrow morning. You are most welcome to join us, Hathor, if you change your mind.”

“Heavens, Bing; I would be bored beyond imagining and therefore likely to cut the visit short—a most unsatisfactory gooseberry.”

“Mr. Hafez and I have no need for a gooseberry, Hathor.” Bing was very much on her dignity as she turned down the lamp.

Resisting the temptation to tease Bing about her new beau, Hattie instead adopted a thoughtful manner as she lifted the coverlet to climb into her bed. “It does not appear that the minister is aware of Edward’s secret chamber—did you note?”

Bing nodded in the dim lamplight. “Yes. Although recall that Edward was not himself certain of its existence.”

“Unless…” Hattie added slowly. “Unless Mr. Hafez was probing to see how much we knew.” She cast Bing a covert glance.

Bing stood for a moment, thoughtful. “It would be best to be circumspect, Hathor—a good point.”

After debating for a silent moment, Hattie decided that in all good conscience she should give her companion some warning. “Monsieur Berry seems to believe there are dangerous forces at work, and that we must be very careful.”

But the revelation did not alarm Bing, who only nodded in agreement as she climbed into bed. “I would not be surprised if that was indeed the case. Wherever there is treasure there are those who would do evil.” It was her companion’s turn to render a covert glance. “A provoking man, Monsieur Berry.”

But Hattie only laughed as she plumped her pillow. “Come, Bing—you are as aware as anyone it is my own wretched temper at fault; Monsieur Berry is anything but provoking.”

“I see,” replied Bing in a level tone.

Hattie sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat in her bed. “I don’t know whom to trust in this business, and it puts me on edge.”

“No blame for it—what with all the talk of hidden treasure and ancient curses.”

“And the odious solicitor—don’t forget him.”

“Indeed.” Bing hesitated, then added, “In turn, I must mention that I am not certain Monsieur Berry has been entirely forthright with us.”

You don’t know the half of it, thought Hattie. Aloud, she replied, “Not to worry, Bing—I am aware that the mysterious Monsieur Berry has not been forthright. He has admitted as much to me.”

“I wondered if perhaps he works for the Prefect of Police.”

Hattie lay down and studied the ceiling in the darkness, her arms crossed behind her head. “You believe he is a law enforcement officer?”

“It is only an impression—but there is little that he does not notice.”

Hattie thought this over, but was met with the undeniable fact that Berry could not work for the French Prefect because—unbeknownst to Bing—Berry was not French. Hattie’s working theory was that he was some sort of spy—he and the captain, both—only it was unclear whose interests he represented; one thing was for certain, he was definitely not English. “An intriguing idea,” she responded, and decided all puzzles could await the morning—she was tired.

She awoke some time later and wondered if it was morning already. The room was enveloped in darkness, however, with the lamp still burning low. Hattie realized she had been awakened by a soft sound and, lying still, she heard it again. Suddenly wide awake, she carefully raised herself on her elbow, her eyes straining into the darkness. In the dim light she could make out a figure crouched down near the wardrobe toward the foot of her bed and her mouth went dry. Craven, she thought—take hold of yourself. “You there,” she said loudly, reaching around for something to use as a weapon. “Identify yourself.”

Several things then happened in rapid succession; the figure sprang upright and, after a moment’s hesitation, made straight for Hattie, who screeched in alarm and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Her attacker was revealed to be an Egyptian man in native garb, who reached across the bed to grasp her arm roughly while Hattie unsuccessfully twisted to avoid him. He dragged her across the bed while Hattie furiously punched at him with her free hand until Bing’s voice rang out. “Halt,” she commanded. “I am armed and I will shoot.”

It was unclear whether the intruder spoke English, but he ignored Bing and wrapped his arms around Hattie, wrestling her toward the door. Hattie sank her teeth into his wrist just as a loud report sounded; Bing had fired. The intruder yelped, although Hattie wasn’t certain if he had been shot or merely bitten, and Hattie pulled herself free long enough to leap toward Bing who stood unflinching, holding her pistol on the intruder. The balcony doors were suddenly flung open and the turbaned man appeared, hesitating in the dimness as he took in the scene. Hattie gasped to Bing, “Don’t shoot the new one,” just as the original intruder decided a retreat was in order. He ran at the turbaned man, knocking him back, then leapt over him to disappear through the balcony doors, the turbaned man up again and hot on his heels.

Hattie stood with Bing, her heart hammering in the sudden silence, and before either could speak the door to the room burst open and Berry appeared in his shirt sleeves, his own pistol drawn.

“They both went out the balcony,” Hattie pointed.

Berry went to peer over the balcony into the night as he secured his pistol into his belt. Turning to them he said, “Stay here until I return—do not leave.” Alarmed voices could be heard in the hallway as the two women nodded. It seemed to Hattie that Berry’s gaze lingered on her
dishabille
just before he leapt over the balcony railing, hanging for a moment on the wrought iron supports before jumping down to the street below. Hattie stepped over to watch his figure disappear around a corner but Bing drew her back with a hand on her arm. “Best we lock these doors, Hathor.”

Once inside, Hattie regarded Bing with approval, the blood still coursing in her veins from all the excitement. “Did you shoot him?”

“No; I merely wanted to frighten him away.”

“You are amazing.” Hattie was all admiration.

“Not at all,” Bing disclaimed. “Are you hurt, Hathor? Come over to the lantern so that we can assess.”

A group of guests were huddled outside their broken door, and Hattie decided she should pull on her robe, although she couldn’t help but be pleased that Berry had been given an opportunity to glimpse her pretty nightdress. A proprietor from the hotel pushed through the guests and approached them with concern. “Ladies,” he said in heavily accented English. “What has happened?”

“An intruder,” said Bing succinctly. “Routed out the balcony.”

Both the hotel proprietor and the crowd expressed their dismay and outrage at such a turn of events, and the door’s broken lock was examined. “I will post a guard,” the man announced. “Rest assured you will be undisturbed the remainder of the night, and tomorrow we will repair the door.”

“Thank you,” said Hattie, and the room eventually cleared, the spectators murmuring among themselves in the manner of people who did not yet wish to relinquish their shock and outrage.

Bing asked, “Is there anything missing, Hathor? Jewelry, perhaps?”

As Hattie owned little jewelry, an inventory took only a moment. “No. Nothing appears to be missing.” How fortunate that she had left the package at the solicitor’s—it seemed beyond coincidental that this raid took place after her meeting with Mr. Bahur, who had made it clear that he was aware she was withholding information—information that he desperately needed. I should share my conclusions with Berry, she thought, although if he hasn’t reached the same conclusions on his own I wash my hands of him.

Perched on the foot of Bing’s bed, she settled in to wait for Berry’s return. “And who was the other gentleman?” asked Bing as though she was only mildly curious.

“I have seen him speaking with Monsieur Berry,” Hattie explained. Not exactly true, but she’d rather not confess to Bing that the man had been monitoring her movements for two days.

After an hour, Berry tapped at the door and the guard allowed him in on Hattie’s nod.

“You are unhurt?” he asked, assessing her with a brief glance.

“Yes.” Little doubt that she would have bruises on her arm tomorrow but, she reflected with satisfaction, the intruder in turn would sport teeth marks so she felt she had won the encounter.

“Is anything missing?” His gaze was on Hattie, intent.

Hattie shook her head and Bing offered with some severity, “I am not certain the motive was robbery; I believe he had fell intent—he was attempting to seize Hathor and force her out the door.”

Berry’s eyes flew to Hattie’s for verification and she could sense his surprise. Whatever the concerns were that had prompted him to post a guard to watch her movements, he had not anticipated abduction.

“Did you catch him?” asked Hattie.

Berry shook his head in chagrin. “He was very elusive.”

Not a straight answer, noted Hattie; naturally. There was no point in asking any further questions—she had gone this route too many times before.

Berry indicated he needed to speak to the authorities and assured the ladies they would be safe if they remained in the room. After they agreed to meet upon the morrow, he took his leave with a last, enigmatic glance at Hattie, which she could not interpret.

Bing surveyed the chamber, her hands on her hips. “I will pull a chair against the door, Hathor, just as a precaution.”

Hattie teased, “He wouldn’t dare try again—he would be shot through.”

Reminded, Bing searched for the bullet and used a hair pick to pry it out of the plaster, where it had lodged. “I hope we will not be charged for the damage.”

Hattie crawled back into bed, although it seemed unlikely she would sleep for the remainder of the night. “It was certainly not our fault, Bing—although I wouldn’t mention that it was Monsieur Berry who broke down the door.” Thinking on it, Hattie decided he had made a very dashing appearance as he burst into the room to her rescue. She had noted with interest that his hastily clad shirt revealed hair on his chest—a bit darker than his hair color. Flinging back the coverlet, she decided that the room was over-warm and restlessly tried to find a more comfortable position.