I knew I would, but there was something else I had to do before allowing myself to return to the excavation site. "I'm afraid I don't feel well, Mother. I think I should stay home today and rest."
"What's wrong, dear?" She hurried to my bed and placed her cool hand on my forehead.
"Perhaps I took too much sun?"
She frowned. "You were inside the tomb all day," she pointed out.
Bother. "Perhaps it was the heat, then? Or maybe I just got overexcited."
She smiled. "It was a rather exciting day, I'll grant you that."
"I think it would do me good to stay home and rest. I'm sure I'll be right as rain in a day or two."
Her face fell. "Well, if you really think so. I'll miss you on the dig. You're a huge help, you know. Besides, I can hardly wait to see what you'll discover next! You definitely have a knack for this work, Theo."
Her words were music to my ears! Music I had waited years to hear from my mother's lips. But duty—and deathbed promises—called. Completely unaware of the agony I was going through, Mother smiled. "I suppose we can manage without you this once. I'll tell Habiba." And with that, she got up and left the room, leaving me alone with my horrid promises to Awi Bubu and Lord Wigmere.
Clearly it had been only sheer chance that whoever had searched my room hadn't found the Emerald Tablet. But they would keep searching, of that I was certain.
I would have liked to pay my visit to the Luxor temple in the cool of the morning, but I knew the tourists would be out in full force then. Best if as few people as possible were there when I left my message to request a meeting with the wedjadeen. Consequently, I spent a long, slow morning in my room, brooding about the grandfather I never knew. I could still hardly stomach my family's perfidy. That they would have kept so much from me! How could I ever trust them again? Not to mention that the weight of their disapproval had suffocated me for years. How comforting it would have been to know that I had had a grandfather just like myself.
Although, after what had happened to him, that realization might not have been as comforting as one would hope. My grandfather (how odd that sounds!) had been a grown man, and look how badly things had turned out for him. What chance did I, an almost twelve-year-old girl, have to do any better?
The truth was, I couldn't wait to return the orb and the tablet to the wedjadeen so I could concentrate wholly on being an unpeculiar archaeologist.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, I was not in the best of moods. When Quillings's hideous watch contraption told me it was one o'clock, I was only too glad to get moving. I dressed quickly, made my bed, and left a lump of my old clothes carefully concealed under the covers. There, I thought, with one last prod at the decoy. That should look as though I were fast asleep to the casual observer. And hopefully, that was what Habiba was—a casual observer. It occurred to me that she could be a well-placed spy on behalf of Chaos, but Arab women led such sheltered and secluded lives that I didn't see how that could be the case.
Habiba was busy in the kitchen, so it was easy enough to sneak out to the stable, which was empty. Gadji and Sefu must have been off looking for Gadji's family. A sharp slice of regret cut through me and I was filled with a nearly overwhelming desire to have Sticky Will at my back for this adventure. But, of course, that was impossible, since he was an entire continent away. I gave myself a mental rap on the head and told myself to get on with it. How hard could it be to find the Luxor temple, anyway? Surely a landmark so popular with tourists and scholars would be easy enough to find.
I quickly discovered that finding it wasn't the problem—it was making my way through the small army of shopkeepers trying to sell post cards or ostrich feather fans or dragomen trying to talk me into hiring them. There was a small army of donkey boys, all shouting the virtues of their beasts at the top of their lungs, as well as men hawking antikahs and children begging for baksheesh. Finally, out of sheer self-defense, I hired one of the older children to act as my guide and lead me through the din and clamor to the temple.
It worked. Dodging and ducking around the clusters of locals, he led me through a maze of streets lined with shops and bazaars until we at last came upon the temple. It sat, solemn and majestic, spreading out for as far as the eye could see.
I paid the boy his coin and, in spite of his desire to stay and show me the temple, sent him on his way. I wanted to experience this ancient wonder without the constant chatter of my guide.
As the padding of his footsteps disappeared, I stared up at the marvel in front of me and felt as if I had been transported back to the days of the pharaohs. This was the place where the essence of the gods had lived. They had been worshiped here, housed, fed, clothed, and celebrated. There was no hint of dark magic or curses coming from anywhere nearby. Only a sense of unearthly power wafted across my skin, a faint breeze of sensation that felt both hushed and holy. There was also something just the tiniest bit familiar. With a flutter of recognition, I realized I'd felt a similar trickle of power coming off the artifacts of the gods that I'd handled. Now that I'd spent time in Egypt, so close to the source of all these magics, I was able to better distinguish the nuances between them.
A single obelisk rose up against the brilliant blue sky, and two rows of sphinxes guarded the entrance to the temple. Two colossal statues of Ramses II sat on either side of the entrance, imposing guardians of this once-sacred place.
No, it was still sacred, I thought.
I straightened my shoulders and tightened my grip on the reticule, then made my way down the procession of sphinxes. They were just statues, I reminded myself, even if it did feel as if they were watching me.
Luckily, most of the tourists had returned to their hotels and the temple appeared deserted. It was eerie, really, and if I hadn't needed to conduct my business in utmost secrecy, I would have been slightly unnerved.
The thick walls of the temple were covered in carvings, scenes of a battle of some sort. My hands itched to trace them so I could study them later, but there would be time enough for that once my promises had been kept.
I passed through the pylon, a shiver dancing along my shoulders as I did so, and entered the Court of Nectanebo II, the last true Egyptian pharaoh. On the left was a mosque, built much later, but on the right was the triple-barque shrine constructed by the great builder pharaoh, Ramses II. Yet another ancient marvel I had no time for this afternoon. I forced myself to cross the courtyard to the great papyrus-styled columns that lined the path to the inner sanctuaries of the temple. The truth was, it was physically painful to be among all these ancient wonders and have no time to examine them properly. In the end, I made myself stop looking and hurried through with my head down.
When I finally reached the altar, I paused a moment, letting the weight of the ages press down upon me. As reverently as possible, I removed from my pocket the small scroll that Awi Bubu had given me and laid it as an offering on the stone altar just as he had instructed. I said a little prayer, entreating whoever was listening to let the wedjadeen know I came in peace and in an effort to return what was rightfully theirs.
I felt a sense of well-being come over me. I was doing the right thing, returning the tablet and the sacred knowledge to the people who had guarded it for centuries. A faint breeze picked up and fluttered through my hair. I remembered Awi Bubu's insistence that even Shu, the god of air, had ears to hear us. Perhaps even now he took my message to the Eyes of Horus.
My hand slipped inside my pocket and searched for the sliver of brick. As my fingers closed around the rough surface, I listened carefully, wondering if the Babel stone would allow me to make out the words of an actual god.