What the River Knows (Secrets of the Nile, #1)

The two men stared at each other, hardly moving except to breathe. I took my cue from Mr. Hayes, who remained quiet, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the knife next to his side plate. Finally, my uncle turned to me. “Egypt has been overrun with people who spend most of their lives in grand hotels, visiting many lands but not bothering to learn languages, who have looked at everything, but seen nothing. They ruin the planet with their footsteps, and they disrespect Egyptians by taking priceless historical objects and vandalizing monuments. These two men have the means to improve the situation here.”

“Well, you have just said it,” Sir Evelyn said. “We are only two men. How are we to keep tourists from defacing archaeological sites? To keep them from smuggling artifacts in their trunks? It is impossible.”

Tío Ricardo adjusted his thin, wire-framed glasses. “You set the example by allowing duplicates out of the country. Hardly anything is being recorded or studied or made available to the people here. Thousands upon thousands of objects pertaining to Egyptian history are disappearing—”

“Now, be fair,” Monsieur Maspero protested. “I curate the Egyptian Museum myself—”

“Oh, I know all about your sale room,” my uncle said. “I’m shocked the mummies you’ve unwrapped over the years don’t all have a price tag on them.”

Despite Tío Ricardo’s mild tone, his polite smiles, I sensed his profound dislike of the two men. It was in the way he clutched his flatware, the way the corners of his eyes tightened whenever either Monsieur Maspero or Sir Evelyn spoke.

Monsieur Maspero flushed, his mustache quivering madly. “You go too far, Ricardo!”

Slowly, I leaned closer to Mr. Hayes. His scent reminded me of the morning mist shrouding the grounds of our estate: woodsy, with the slightest hint of salt and musk. When I was close enough, I cleared my throat softly. He tilted his chin down in acknowledgment without taking his attention off the men arguing.

“Yes?” he asked under his breath.

“Sale room?”

His expression remained carefully neutral, save for the tightening of his jaw. “Maspero allows tourists to buy excavated artifacts in his museum. Statuettes, figurines, jewelry, pottery, and the like.”

I blinked. “Historical objects of significance are for sale?”

“Correct.”

“To tourists?”

“Correct again.”

My voice rose. “And the money goes where, exactly?”

Their conversation abruptly stopped. All three men shifted in their seat to look at me. My uncle’s expression held reluctant admiration.

“Back to the government, of course,” Sir Evelyn said, his lips stiff and barely moving. When I sat down he had regarded me curiously, but now he glared at me with obvious dislike. How quickly I had fallen from grace.

I straightened away from Mr. Hayes with as much dignity as I could muster.

“And the money will eventually end up in Britain. Isn’t that how it works, Sir Evelyn?” Tío Ricardo asked with a knowing gleam. “I think it’s fair to say that you’re becoming a wealthy man.”

Sir Evelyn’s expression turned stony.

My uncle laughed, but it sounded off to me. As if he weren’t actually amused, far from it. Tension gathered in his shoulders. “You say you’re only two men, when I know countless valuable artifacts are sold in that room by foreign buyers. No one is worse than Mr. Sterling,” Tío Ricardo said. “The man is a deplorable rogue.”

I let out a gasp and covered the sound by coughing loudly. No one noticed. No one except for Mr. Hayes.

“Are you all right, Se?orita Olivera?” Mr. Hayes leaned forward, intently studying my face. “Did you recognize the name?”

My uncle handed me a glass of water and I took a long sip, biding time in order to carefully think of my answer. Should I admit to having met the vile Mr. Sterling? But to do so, I’d have to reveal what Papá had done. He’d sent me an ancient Egyptian ring, smuggled it out of the country and never explained his reasoning. Tío Ricardo would hardly approve, not to mention Abdullah. Not to mention what I thought of what he’d done. Papá had lost his senses.

I lowered the glass. “He doesn’t seem like someone I would care to know.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Tío Ricardo said. “The man ought to be in prison.”

“Now, see here. He’s a friend—” Sir Evelyn interrupted.

My uncle snorted. “Because he makes you an obscene amount of money—”

“Who follows the law to the letter—” Sir Evelyn said.

“Laws that you have made as the consul general of Egypt,” Tío Ricardo said, his hand curling into a fist around the cloth napkin. “You oversee the country’s finances. It is you who has stripped Egypt of any progress instigated by Ismail Pasha. It is you who has closed schools, barred Egyptians from higher education and opportunities for women.”

“I notice how you don’t mention how Ismail Pasha sank Egypt into debt,” Sir Evelyn said dryly. “He’s the reason for Europe’s involvement in this country’s affairs. Egypt must pay back what it owes.”

My uncle rubbed his temples, weariness etched into every line that crossed his brow in deep grooves. “Don’t start with that. You’re deliberately missing the point I’m trying to make.”

“Eh, bien. What is it that you want?” Monsieur Maspero asked.

“Gentlemen,” Tío Ricardo began after inhaling deeply. “I’m asking that you put my brother-in-law Abdullah in charge of the Antiquities Service. He deserves a seat at the table.”

“But that’s my job,” Monsieur Maspero sputtered.

“He’s hardly qualified, Mr. Marqués,” Sir Evelyn said coldly. “When was the last time your team discovered anything? Every season you and Abdullah turn up empty-handed. You’ll forgive me if I’m hardly inspired.”

“If we didn’t allow a legal way for objects to be excavated and removed from Egypt, then we’d have a rampant return of illegal auctions,” Monsieur Maspero mused. “You must admit that my tenure has already seen a marked decreased in objects leaving the country. We must all learn to bend a little, I think.”

“Ask my brother-in-law how he feels and then perhaps I’d be inclined to listen to you,” Tío Ricardo said. “You know as well as I do that it’s impossible to ascertain how many objects leave Egypt’s borders since so many are stolen. And you yourself have granted permits to the Egypt Exploration Fund.”

“They must ask before taking anything out of the country,” Monsieur Maspero said, outrage dawning. “It’s all under the supervision of the Antiquities Service.”

Which begged the question, did the Antiquities Service employ any Egyptians? I glanced at Tío Ricardo and his clenched jaw. He was a teapot, filled with boiling water, and nearly ready to whistle. It ought to be Abdullah sitting here, arguing the point. But I understood my uncle’s earlier words, his frustration that Abdullah wasn’t even allowed a seat at the table.

“Have you forgotten what you do for a living, Mr. Marqués?” Sir Evelyn asked. “You’re a treasure hunter like all the rest of them, and as terrible one at that. Bleeding money every month. I’ve heard of how you and Abdullah run your excavation sites, paying your workers exorbitant sums—”

Tío Ricardo sneered. “You mean a living wage? No one works for me for free—”

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