“I don’t know her well enough to know.” Tío Ricardo glared at Mr. Hayes. “Neither do you.”
Mr. Hayes’s lips pressed tight, as if stifling amusement. “She was certainly . . . plucky.”
“Her curiosity is bothersome.”
“She was bound to have questions about your tall tale.”
“If Cayo hadn’t lied to me, he would still be alive,” Tío Ricardo said in frustration. “He was a dishonest fool who knew better than to cross me when I want something.” He ducked his head, the line of his jaw hard and unforgiving. “This is all his fault.”
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“I can when it’s deserved.” A sharp gasp climbed up my throat. I ruthlessly tamped it down, biting my lip. He was talking about my father. My eyes burned. What the hell was going on? My mother’s letter swam across my vision. Panic edged closer and I fought to keep my breathing even.
It seemed my mother had been right to worry. Tío Ricardo sounded furious, and was clearly after something.
And my father had stood in the way.
Part Two
Up the River
Capítulo Trece
I woke to the clamoring sounds of the Nile coming to life. The taste of fish and mud and crocodiles in my mouth, pungent and sharp. Kareem nudged my thigh with his sandaled foot, a bundle of wet rope in his hands. Gingerly, I sat up, my limbs having fallen asleep during the night. My knees were wobbly as I stood; I flung out a hand to grip the railing of the Elephantine. Everyone else had already gotten up, rushing around the deck. Some carried supplies, others busily rolled up the sleeping mats. Overhead, the bright blue of an Egyptian morning stretched in every direction.
I couldn’t appreciate any of it. I had spent a long and miserable night agonizing over what I had overheard. My mind held so many pieces of a puzzle, and none of them seemed to fit together. I’d thought about my uncle, my imagination turning him into the worst kind of villain. A scoundrel who did . . . what? Then I’d thought about Mr. Hayes and his quicksilver grins and empty flattery and the way his flask was always in easy reach. In my mind, they had become an untrustworthy pair with shady motives.
Best I stay far away from Mr. Hayes.
And yet.
There had been moments when I’d seen something beyond the implacable mask. The brush of his lips against my cheek. He hadn’t revealed my disobedience to his employer, but had kept our outing a secret. He’d stayed by my side as we explored the city, and I had felt safe, but not crowded. Looked after, but not controlled. Despite myself, I’d developed a fascination for his easy wit and direct gaze. The hint of softness and loyalty lurking under the surface. Or I could be hoping to see something nonexistent.
“Allah yesabbahhik bilkheir,” Kareem said, jerking me from my thoughts. I recognized the greeting, having heard it many times since arriving in Egypt.
“Same to you,” I said.
“When are you planning on revealing yourself to your uncle?”
We were still moored, but I sensed that the general commotion meant we were preparing to depart. Without question, I had to wait until there was no feasible way my uncle could turn back.
“Not until tomorrow at the earliest,” I said. “Is there something I can be doing to help?”
Kareem tilted his head, studying me with his wide eyes. “There’s plenty to do.”
“I’d like to help,” I repeated.
“You can assist me in the kitchen, then. I must prep breakfast for the team and crew.”
I’d never stepped foot in our kitchen back home, not even to boil water.
“I’m sure I can be useful,” I said.
“Your mother once tried to help, too.”
I froze. “What?”
“I think she was trying to pass the time. She seemed lonely.”
That didn’t make sense. Mamá had been with my father; they were inseparable. “My mother was lonely?”
Kareem nodded. “Your father studied his books a lot, or helped with the planning. He was always off doing one thing or another. Left her by herself most of the time.”
“Helped who? My uncle?”
Kareem nodded.
“Did you ever see my uncle and Papá argue?”
Kareem shook his head, seemingly unsurprised by the question. His face softened, his expressive eyes gazing soulfully into mine. “You look like her,” Kareem said. “I’m sorry they passed.”
My throat locked up.
“It’s good that you’re here,” he added.
I followed the young boy to the kitchen, surreptitiously wiping my eyes. Questions filled my mind, near overflowing. I wanted to know what Kareem had thought of Mamá and Papá, if he had spent any time with them and how much. Being in Egypt only reminded me of how much of their lives I had missed. I still didn’t understand why they’d forbidden me from ever joining them.
We reached the kitchen, and I looked around the functional space. On a slim, wooden counter, bowls of eggs and fava beans rested alongside jars of various spices. I’d never seen any of the kind before. Lemons and bottles of olive oil lined a shelf barely wider than two feet.
“I’ll cook the beans,” Kareem said. “You mash them.”
“What are we making?”
“Foul with tahini,” he said, lighting the stove. Then he pulled down a flat pan from one of the hooks. “Beans mixed with cumin and coriander, lemon, and oil. The team loves it with eggs.”
“It sounds delicious. Who taught you to cook?”
Kareem smiled and said, “My older sister.”
“How long have you been a part of my uncle’s crew?”
“A few years. We all have been trained by Abdullah, your uncle’s business partner.” The boy glanced at me, his gaze direct, and for a moment, he looked older than I first thought him to be. “Will you cut the lemon in half?”
“That I can do,” I said. I took the knife he handed me and sliced the fruit. “This is the first time I’ve joined my uncle, and I’m curious. He hasn’t talked much about Abdullah’s latest excavation site. You must have seen so many interesting things.”
Kareem spooned ghee into the pan and then cracked several eggs which immediately sizzled upon contact. My stomach roared to life. I hadn’t eaten since the day before at Groppi.
“Your uncle doesn’t like us to talk about the site,” Kareem said finally.
“Why?”
“Because, sitti,” Kareem said. “He and Abdullah never trust anyone with what they’ve found.”
*
Kareem looked down at my burnt flatbread. His lips pinched and I stifled a laugh. I had warned him. He had showed me all of the tools in the kitchen that held on to the magical remnants of some old spell. A bowl that never ran out of salt, a cup that kept clean no matter what was dumped inside of it. Knives that turned food cold, spoons that when stirred, baked whatever was inside the dish. Even so, I’d still managed to mess something up.
“Why don’t you go out onto the docks? We’re about to depart, I think?”
His tone didn’t sound like a suggestion.