Misplaced (32 page)

The
unfortunate
apprentice
accused
of
the
crime
had
been
Mieley’s
Nubiology
classmate
at
UCLA.
Arlan
concluded
that
th
e
man’
s
rea
l
crim
e
ha
d
bee
n
snobbery
.
Th
e
mornin
g
the
police
led
him
a
w
ay,
they
locked
e
y
es,
and
there
hadn’t
been
e
v
en
a
flicker
of
recognition.
It
w
as
then
that
Arlan
recognized
tha
t
perhap
s
hi
s
bes
t
skil
l
w
a
s
bein
g
completel
y
an
d
utterly
forgettable.

Ma
x
Cotts
,
th
e
bes
t
authenticato
r
o
f
Egyptia
n
artifact
s
i
n
the
United
States,
had
an
office
in
a
shabby
section
of
New
Y
ork’s
je
w
elry
district.
Standing
in
front
of
the
ground-floor
entrance,
Miele
y
too
k a
dee
p
breath
.
Nearby
,
fryin
g w
affl
e
cones
reminded
him
that
he
had
skipped
a
meal
or
two.
He
opened
the door slo
w
ly, taking care not to look up at the camera.

“Shit!”
Max
Cotts exclaimed,
jumping
out
of
his
seat,
“you
scared
me.
How
long
ha
v
e
you
been
standing
there?
Come
on
back.”

A
rla
n
f
o
ll
o
w
e
d
th
e
fr
a
il
,
s
il
v
er-h
a
ire
d
m
a
n
do
w
n
a
s
h
o
r
t
hall
w
ay
narro
w
ed
by
stacks
of
decaying
cardboard
boxes
and
lit
by
a
single,
exhausted
bulb.
A
t
the
end
of
the
hall
w
ay
w
as
a
cramped
office.
Cotts
pulled
a
set
of
magnifying
goggles
o
v
er
his
e
y
es
and
sat
down
at
the
metal
desk,
which
filled
the
tiny
room. “Get the light, will you?”

I
n
near-darkness
,
Co
t
t
s
turne
d
a
manil
a
en
v
elop
e
upside—
dow
n
an
d
ga
v
e
i
t
a
gentl
e
shake
.
Th
e
bracelet
s
sli
d
ont
o
the
desk as he switched on a magnification
lamp.
“Th
e
informatio
n
o
n
th
e
bracelet
s
themsel
v
e
s
i
s
relati
v
ely
standard
.
I’
m
fairl
y
certai
n
the
y
cam
e
fro
m
th
e
Intermediate
P
eriod, just before the Middle Kingdom.”

“I know that, Max.”

“They
’
r
e
coronatio
n
bracelets
.
They’
ve
ne
v
e
r
bee
n
seen
before
,
an
d
I
can’
t
fin
d
the
m
i
n
an
y
catalog
s
a
s
fa
r
bac
k
as
records of Egyptian artifacts exist.”

“Goo
d
t
o
know
,
bu
t
pharaoh
s
ofte
n
ha
d
je
w
elr
y
designed
for
such
occasions.
I
need
to
know
which
pharaoh
and
which
wife.”

“Th
e
coronatio
n
bracelet
s
w
er
e
mad
e
fo
r
th
e
incoming
pharaoh—an
d
Arlan
,
the
y
proclai
m
he
r
t
o
b
e
Egypt’
s
firs
t
ruling queen.”

“Bullshit.
That’s
fi
v
e
hundred
y
ears
before
Hatshepsut.
Are
you sure?”

Scruff
y
ol
d
Max
,
renowne
d
fo
r
hi
s
miserl
y
w
ays
,
grinned
from
ear
to
ear
before
pulling
a
bottle
of
vintage
Dom
P
erignon
and two flutes
from a tiny refrigerator behind his desk.

“Listen,
my
friend;
what
you
ha
v
e
here
is
the
disco
v
ery
of
a
lifetime.”
Max
opened
the
champagne
with
practiced
hands,
which
surprised
Arlan.
“Here’s
what
w
e
ha
v
e
so
far.
The
name
of
our
mysterious
queen
is
not
gi
v
en,
but
she
w
as
the
daughter
o
f
Pharao
h
P
ep
y
II
.
Ther
e
i
s
n
o
evidenc
e
tha
t
sh
e
e
v
e
r
ruled
wit
h
he
r
father
,
an
d
non
e
tha
t
sh
e
e
v
e
r
rule
d
alone
.
Loo
k
here,”
Cotts
urged,
showing
Arlan
the
empty
settings.
“So
what
you
ha
v
e
i
s
a
myster
y
o
f
historica
l
proportions
.
Wha
t
happened
to
the
woman
known
as
the
Lady
of
the
Castle?
Did
someone
fin
d
an
d
rai
d
he
r
tomb
?
No
t
e
v
e
n
th
e
Egyptian
s
kno
w
about
her.
I
placed
a
call
to
Dr.
Shenouda
this
morning
to
ask
a
few
preliminary questions—”

“I
tol
d
yo
u
t
o
kee
p
thi
s
quiet!
”
Arla
n
shouted
,
suddenly
feelin
g
ho
t
an
d
dizzy
.
A
shril
l
buzzing
,
lik
e
tha
t
o
f
some
monstrous mosquito, filled
his ears. “I don’t need the secretary
genera
l
o
f
Egyptia
n
antiquitie
s
lookin
g
int
o
this.
”
Arla
n
clapped
his
hands
o
v
er
his
ears,
but
too
late;
the
sound
w
as
boring
into
his
brain.
“This
is
my
disco
v
ery,”
he
w
ailed,
“mine!
If
you
get
thos
e
self-righteou
s
fanatic
s
invol
v
ed
,
they
’
l
l
clai
m
tha
t
th
e
disco
v
ery and e
v
erything attached
to it belongs to Egypt!”