I was the one who’d painted it, front and back.
My uncle knelt over his trunk and pulled out several loose sheets, reading them quickly and then folding them in half, only to tuck them within my mother’s words. Intuition flickered, and an urge to rush inside and demand he hand me my mother’s private thoughts nearly overwhelmed me. But I stayed back, for once thinking it through. If I went in now, he’d probably lie to me, and then he’d make damn sure to hide her things from me.
Better to wait until he leaves the cabin.
I only had to wait a few seconds more before Tío Ricardo barreled out of his room, his upper body pitched forward as if he were a charging bull. When he disappeared up the steps, I darted across the narrow hallway, shutting the door behind me.
He’d left the space tidy and organized, the trunk locked. With a muttered curse, I dropped to my knees, pulling a pin from out of my hair. I knew how to pick a lock thanks to my father’s fascination with perfecting random talents. He could hold his breath underwater for three minutes, and he knew several different sailor’s-knots and how to untie them, and for a season, he was fascinated with burglars.
I stuck the pin into the lock and jimmied it one way, and when that didn’t work, I tried the other way, thanking my aunt for the times she would lock me in my bedroom whenever I acted out. It opened, and as the boat lurched again, I flipped the lid of the trunk open.
Mamá’s journal sat on top of the pile of rolled-up maps.
I would need time to read through every entry, but I didn’t have that luxury. I only had tonight while everyone else fought to keep the Elephantine hale during the storm. With that thought, I rushed back to my room. I gathered my purse and bag and then sat directly underneath the window as the sand drove in furious bursts against the glass. If the boat were to capsize, I’d want to be closest to an exit.
It was only then that I began to read.
And it was on the last page when I read the entry that changed everything.
My brother and I can never go back. He’s gone down a road that I will not follow, but I can’t bear to go to the authorities. Oh, but how can I write such a thing? I must! I must! His threats terrify me. The last time we argued, it hurt to pick myself up from the floor. Ricardo said he hadn’t meant to hurt me, but he did.
Even now, I carry the bruises. I can’t ignore the truth.
I fear for my life. I fear for Cayo’s life.
And I don’t know what I should do. He is my brother.
But he is a murderer.
At first, I couldn’t make sense of the sentences. And then each word crystallized, all sharp edges and harsh lines.
Threats.
Bruises.
Murderer.
My mother had been afraid for her life. I unbuttoned the collar of my dress, gasping, struggling to breathe. My mother had been living in terror of what her brother might do. The despair and desperation etched into every letter brought clarity to my mind. As if the fog had cleared, and I could see what had been hidden from me. Who had Tío Ricardo killed?
And if he had once, he could again.
All this time, my uncle refused to give me the details surrounding their deaths. And now I finally knew why. The answer had been in front of me all along. Outside the window, the storm raged. A tempest demanding her due. I read the entry again and my vision blurred as I began to listen to what my intuition was frantically trying to tell me. All the clues were there. My uncle hadn’t wanted me in Egypt. He engaged Whit in illegal activities. He refused to tell me what had happened to my parents. My mother’s note to Monsieur Maspero, begging for help. The curious card with the illustration of a gate, with a time, place, and date on the other side. And now the journal entry where my uncle had laid his hands on her. Hard enough to bruise.
The truth was an iron fist around my heart, clenched tight.
My uncle killed my parents.
*
I had to get off the Elephantine. It took me seconds to pack all of my things. I was sure I’d forgotten something, because my movements were frantic and hurried. Outside my room, the corridor was empty. The crew, my uncle, Whit, and I’m sure Mr. Fincastle were on the upper deck. No one would notice as I carried my small bag to the railing. No one would notice there was one fewer person on the dahabeeyah. I pulled the door open, looked both ways, and scurried down the narrow hall. Curls of sand slapped my hair, making it gritty and hard. Above, the sounds of people shouting carried over the sharp wind. I made it to the railing, the strap of my bag digging into my palm.
Below, the water churned.
I remembered how the river had swept over my head. Held me in her clutches. With a shaking hand, I reached forward, fear twisting inside me sharply. Indecision hovered close and after one long moment, I let my arm drop.
It was madness to jump.
My chances of survival were slim. If I stayed on board, my fate was just as murky. I stared into the river deep, fear climbing up my throat. There were crocodiles and snakes, a malevolent current, and blasting winds.
But on the Elephantine, a murderer.
I clenched my eyes, breathing fast. I tasted sand between my teeth, and the skirt of my dress whipped around my legs violently. Even if I survived the storm, even if I survived the Nile, what would I do next? How would I continue on to Philae?
My eyes flew open.
The question shocked me. My body wanted to flee the boat, the river, Egypt. And yet there was a part of me that didn’t want to give up on my parents. If I left, I’d never know how they had really died. I’d never know why my uncle had killed them. Reason finally took over, beating back my terror. Until now, my uncle had done nothing to threaten or harm me. At turns courteous, and though he had lost his temper the day he discovered I’d stowed away on the Elephantine, he hadn’t struck me.
As long as he knew that I didn’t know the truth, he wouldn’t try anything.
I slowly backed away from the railing. Turned and walked back to his cabin, replacing the journal I had taken. Then I went to my cabin in a kind of trance. I would see this through.
Come what may.
Whit
The rope burned against my palm. Underneath my feet, the deck dipped and rocked, and I bent my knees to keep from tumbling. The rest of the crew worked the sails, trying to use the wind to help us navigate the storm without any damage to the dahabeeyah. Reis Hassan called out orders, the sound drowned out by my rapid heartbeat slamming against my ribs.