“Inez,” my uncle said, exasperated. “I thought you’d been educated on Egypt. What do you know of the Nile?”
“It’s my first visit and my education didn’t extensively cover Egyptian geography,” I said in prickly mortification. I calmed myself by finally reveling in a piece of information I hadn’t known before. I had been given a destination. Another place where my parents frequented, lived, explored.
Another piece of the puzzle finally revealed.
Was the island the last place they were seen alive?
Once again, it was Mr. Hayes who answered me. “The Nile is divided by six cataracts, the majority of which are found in Egypt. Passing one is very dangerous, as the water level could be too low, the boulders become visible, and the current moves rapidly. In order to get to our destination, we have to successfully cross the first one. Fortunately, we’ll stop there and proceed no farther.”
“Hidden sandbanks and large, sunken rocks are often an issue,” Mr. Fincastle added. “Depending on the current’s movement, they might shift and move. This is what makes navigation tricky by day, and dangerous by night.”
No one had ever told me. Up until now, our journey upstream had been downright sluggish save for yesterday’s near catastrophe. But that had been my fault.
“Last year, we heard the news that a dahabeeyah had been shipwrecked. The passengers had to crawl out through the windows in their night dresses,” Isadora said, and I startled. I don’t know why I had assumed it was her first time to Egypt, too. It made me feel as I had even more ground to cover, more catching up to do. “A dangerous undertaking, considering what else fills the Nile.”
“I’m aware,” I said dryly, recalling my brush with death from the day before.
“Are you still glad you came along?” Tío Ricardo asked wryly.
I lifted my chin. “Of course! It will be an adventure. Just think of the drawings that will fill my sketchbook.”
Mr. Fincastle regarded me with keen interest. “You’re an artist?”
“I like to draw, I’m not sure if that makes me an artist.”
“Of course it does,” my uncle barked.
My surprise robbed me of speech. It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me. My cheeks warmed and I hid them behind a long sip of bitter coffee.
“Oh, I see what you’re about,” Mr. Fincastle said. “I understand you completely, Ricardo. You couldn’t secure a photographer after you lost the previous one, and so instead we’ll have your niece to keep proper record. Fortunate indeed that she decided to include herself in your plans.”
“Actually,” Tío Ricardo said. “We did have a photographer. Abdullah’s granddaughter, Farida, had been taking pictures for us. But she won’t be with us this season. Having Inez render all of the vibrant colors from within the temples would be an asset . . .”
I sat back against my chair. Until he said it, the idea had never occurred to me. Until the words were out in the open, I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to do it. This would be the perfect ruse. A way to see everything I could on the island. A way to be useful to Abdullah’s team.
Before my uncle could say another word, I shifted in my chair to address the burly man head on. “Very clever, Mr. Fincastle. That is the exact reason why my uncle ought to invite me to be a member of his team.”
My uncle sat in quiet bemusement, as if he couldn’t quite believe how I’d forced myself into his plans, and Mr. Hayes laughed under his breath. He’d eaten every bite on his plate and was now helping himself to my pastry. As if there weren’t other ones to choose from at the center of the table. Really, his manners were atrocious.
“It will mean practically sleeping in a tent and foregoing the luxuries of the dahabeeyah,” Tío Ricardo warned. “Exploring dusty and dark rooms in sweltering heat.”
A dreamy expression stole over Isadora’s face. Her honey-colored hair was coiled perfectly at the crown of her head, and her dress was the height of European fashion, cinched tight around her narrow waist, a train of fabric curled around her chair. She looked like a damsel from a romance novel, just waiting to be saved. Except I couldn’t get the picture of her firing that gun out of my mind.
“Wouldn’t you rather sit and draw from the safety of the Elephantine?” Mr. Fincastle asked. “A lady such as yourself isn’t used to the discomfort of rough travel.”
Mr. Hayes snorted.
“I’m up to the task, I assure you.”
“She’s made up her mind,” Tío Ricardo said. “I think she’ll manage to surprise us all. Provided she promises to stay out of trouble.”
“I can do this.” There was no other option. This was the best way to give me freedom on Philae. A way to discover the truth about my uncle, to snoop inside his tent.
I’d do anything to make it work, even help them find Cleopatra’s tomb.
My uncle didn’t reply, and the rest of our party resumed their breakfast. He kept his eyes trained on mine, so very like mine and my mother’s hazel ones. He didn’t say another word, but I understood him regardless. I heard the words as if he’d spoken them out loud.
Don’t make me regret it.
Just wait until he discovered what I could do with a charcoal pencil.
Capítulo Dieciséis
After breakfast, Mr. Fincastle and Isadora went out for a stroll on the deck, his rifle propped over his shoulder. She stood in his shadow, her arm looped around his elbow, the affection between them obvious. Pain constricted my breath, trapped it between my ribs. Papá and I took long walks around our estate, rambling and without any clear destination. He was an easy man to love, and he didn’t need much to be happy. His books, a strong cup of coffee, his family close by, and Egypt, that was all. His life seemed to belong to someone else. Now I wish I would have asked him more about his parents and what they had been like, and if he had been close to them. I’d never met them, and I’d lost the chance to learn more about his upbringing, too.
But I’d never go on another walk with him again.
I blinked the tears away, still staring at the pair. They peered down into the water, no doubt looking for yet another crocodile to shoot at. They moved out of view of the window frame, and I turned back to my uncle. Tío Ricardo pulled down a book from one of the saloon shelves, immediately getting lost in its pages.
It struck me then how little time we had spent together. My uncle, a man with so many secrets I doubted I could uncover them all.
But I could start somewhere.
Whit caught my eye, and smiled at me, his expression surprisingly tender. He poured himself another cup of coffee, lifted it in my direction, and then mouthed good luck before rising to leave the saloon. I stared after him in disbelief, his intuition profoundly unsettling. Why couldn’t he act the scoundrel all the time? A brawny rogue who only cared about himself.
It’d be so much easier to forgive.
I shook off the unsettling feeling that I was falling into a pit that I wouldn’t be able to climb back out of, and focused on my uncle, hiding behind the hardcover of his book.