I ignored him—the jackal was already scampering off—and after I squeezed completely within, I found a tunnel before me. It sloped steeply down but was quickly swallowed up by darkness.
At the sound of Oliver crawling behind me, I hurried into the shadows. The ceiling, walls, and floors were made of smooth bricks, and just as the stone steps outside had become worn away and dangerous, the floor was littered with gravel and slick dust.
We had been so prepared with weapons . . . but lighting had never occurred to us.
Yet if the jackal had gone this way, then I would have to follow.
Footsteps echoed behind me, and soon we had lost the safety of the sun’s light. When I glanced back, all I saw was a dim glow around the others’ silhouettes.
Oliver stepped in front of me. “I can still see.” His hand slipped into mine—and then I grabbed Daniel’s. He gave me a reassuring squeeze before reaching back for Joseph.
But we only made it three paces before a loud groan filled the tunnel. The sound of rock grinding on rock above us—and behind. Light flashed overhead . . . then shifted to fill the tunnel beyond. I squinted at the sudden onslaught, only to find a square mirror hanging from the ceiling. It had rotated to catch the light from outside, and though it was no larger than my head, it sent a sharp beam farther down the tunnel.
“Magic,” Joseph murmured. “Those mirrors were triggered by magic.”
I gulped. He was right. A gentle layer of power was settling along my skin like the finest of dusts. “But what triggered it?” I whispered.
“Does it matter?” Oliver’s voice was edged with impatience. He pulled free from my grasp and scooted ahead. “Let us simply be grateful we can see. Now where is the jacka—”
A second groan broke out, and a series of cloth fans shaped like palm fronds dropped from the ceiling—then began to wave. How they had not decayed I could only guess at. Magic seemed the likely explanation.
No matter the cause, they kicked up a draft and brought in fresh air.
I gulped, and with the pretense of scratching my leg, I let my fingers run over an ivory tusk. I instantly felt stronger. We have light, we have air, and there is only one direction in which to go. “Keep walking,” I said, easing into a stride. “We should hurry.”
After another fifty steps we reached a second mirror . . . and a second cloth fan. As the fresh light stabbed farther down the tunnel, I glimpsed an abrupt end to the brick walls. From here on the tunnel was hewn from the bedrock.
We would soon be underground.
And I could not help but think of the tunnels beneath Paris—especially when the dust thickened and muffled our footsteps. Or when Daniel’s pistol would bounce high at every sound, his grip on my arm releasing and his body moving to protect Joseph. I knew, in those moments, that he thought of what Madame Marineaux had done—how he hadn’t kept his leader safe from her claws.
And I knew Joseph thought of Madame Marineaux too, for he scrubbed at his bandaged head.
Another fifty paces and a mirror creaked into position . . . to reveal a brick doorway ahead. Its frame was lined with hieroglyphics: eyes, falcons, cobras, and thrones. Beyond was a long, low-ceilinged room carved from the bedrock. On either side, running the length of the room, were eight pairs of blocks, each as ornately carved as the doorway. And standing atop the blocks were man-size statues. With their bronze headdresses, they looked like miniature versions of the statues guarding the Bulaq Museum—except these ones held spears. Real spears with metal tips.
Oliver marched through the doorway, and he did not bother to dampen our bond. His anticipation rolled off him.
I scurried after . . . but quickly stumbled to a halt—for Oliver had paused between two statues, his head cocked as if listening.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“This room is . . . waiting.” He tipped his head in the other direction. “There is magic, and it will soon be triggered.”
I moved closer to him, a confused question on my tongue, but as soon as I crossed the first pair of statues, a loud snap! grated through the chamber—and dust billowed.
Instantly, I had my pulse pistol out and trained on the statue to my right. Its spear was now extended.
I held my breath, my pistol trembling, and when I glanced back, I saw Joseph with his crystal clamp up.
None of us moved. None of us breathed. The only sound was the flapping of the fans.
“Keep moving,” Oliver hissed. “They respond to you. You are what the room waited for.”
“Why?” I asked, locked in my stance.
“They serve you,” Oliver said with a flicker of meaningful emotion across our bond. “Pharaon, recall?”
With a tight swallow, I nodded and stepped carefully onward. Snap! The next set of statues and spears shot out; dust exploded off them, and they did not move again.
Sand clogged my nose and mouth, yet as I stood there waving the air, I could just make out the various air currents. Dust twirled and twisted, carried away by the cloth fans.