His brow quirked. “You think so?”
I ticked off the reasons using my fingers. “I’ve outsmarted you at least twice. You showed me around Cairo, I know about your family and your secret—”
“Hardly a secret,” he muttered.
“You saved my life in the river. We survived the near sinking of the Elephantine—”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“And now we’re defying my uncle. It’s nice to have a companion on that score.”
“Happy to be here to suit your needs,” he said with some degree of sarcasm, but I read the humor in his gaze regardless. “It’s not guarded because that would immediately telegraph the kiosk’s importance.”
“Oh, I suppose that makes sense.” Some of what he’d mentioned earlier finally registered. I looked down. “Wait, there’s a tunnel?”
“Yes. Which we’ll find presently.” Whit looked down and ran his hands across the stone. “I wonder if you press down . . .” He did, but nothing happened.
I placed a light hand on his arm. “Can you lift the pavement? There’s a significant gap around the stone in comparison to the ones surrounding it.”
He complied, lifting and tugging, until the stone cleared the others fully.
I looked underneath. “Well, what do you know?”
Whit gently placed the top stone on the ground and joined in on my examination. A raised circle rose up from the ground, no more than a few inches. I reached forward and tried turning it, but the cylinder remained firmly in place. At the top, there was an inscription faintly carved into the service.
“How’s your knowledge of hieroglyphs?”
“Fair,” Whit said, squinting. “Careful not to drip the wax.”
I righted the candle. “Can you read it?”
“Some,” he muttered. “Not nearly as well as Abdullah or your uncle, however. I think it’s another cartouche of Isis, but she’s surrounded by other figures I don’t recognize.”
“Interesting. Her guardian perhaps?”
Whit made a noncommittal grunt.
“How large is the tunnel opening?”
“Not very, I have to go in sideways to enter.”
The magic inside was near bursting, threatening release. I had no idea how that kind of energy moved, how it chose where to go. But I felt it moving like a strong current in my bloodstream. Desperate, I brushed my fingers alongside the corners, and I felt an area of bumpy stone.
“There,” I murmured. “Found it.”
I pressed hard, and a small rectangular space gave in, moving inward with the sound of stone scraping against stone. The floor in front of us dropped about five inches, a decompression that formed another rectangular shape.
“There it is, Olivera,” Whit said grinning. He got onto his knees and carefully slid the pavement backward where it tucked neatly underneath, revealing narrow stone steps descending into a flat darkness.
“Do you want to go first, or shall I?”
My body thrummed with barely contained excitement. “Me.”
Whit smiled and held out his hand. “After you, then.”
Capítulo Veinte
I inhaled deeply before scooting forward to place my feet inside the narrow opening. Then I slowly, and with much care, moved down, the flame of my candle giving enough illumination so I could make out the next step, and then the next. My pulse raced, and the magic in my blood sang in tune to my heartbeat. The walls were dusty and appeared to be made of packed dirt. Whit followed after me, staying close behind. His breath was a soothing presence, like the steady rise and fall of the ocean lapping against the Argentinian coast.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Of course,” I said.
“Most people are afraid of dark, enclosed spaces.”
“Oh, I’m afraid of dark, enclosed places,” I admitted. “But I wouldn’t miss this. Not for anything.”
I reached the last step and found myself in what appeared to be a small, square room. I moved the candle around until I found a small opening with a jagged edge, as if someone had blown through it.
“Dynamite?” I guessed.
Whit shook his head. “Too risky, it might cause structural damage. No, it was a small amount of gunpowder, targeting specific areas.”
I let out a whistle. “Isn’t that still risky?”
Whit smiled slightly. “Not if you know what you’re doing.”
I looked at him quickly. “Was it you?”
He bowed, an irreverent grin stretching his mouth.
I could only stare at him, gaping.
Whit cleared his throat, his gaze dropping. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was embarrassed. “It’s a simple chemical explosion. A child could do it.”
This man was made of nothing but self-deprecation and peril and cynicism. He knew how to handle explosives. “No, I don’t think a child—”
“Let’s move on, shall we?” Whit said, his eyes snapping to mine. “Ricardo found this place with your parents and Abdullah, and not long after, we blew through to the next room. You can imagine their disappointment when they discovered the rather plain presentation.”
So I was right. My father had been here.
I kept my attention on the opening, itching to dart ahead. “I’m sensing there’s more you’re not telling me.”
“Your senses are to be admired,” he said wryly. “Ancient Egyptians used to create labyrinths at the burial sites in order to confuse or waylay tomb robbers. Therefore, this room is a ruse.”
I gestured to the ragged opening. “Shall we go through?”
“As you wish.”
I led the way, stepping over a pile of rocks, Whit at my heels. Within seconds, we were standing in yet another plain room. This one smelled even mustier and more damp, but it, too, opened into another room. Whit gestured for me to continue until we stood in a third room, just as plain and ordinary as the previous ones. I stepped closer to the walls, but there was no ornamentation, or hint that there had ever been of any kind. The steady presence of the magic was my only guide.
It sensed something beyond the walls.
“Another ruse,” I murmured. “But what about . . .” My voice trailed off. From the little I could see, my uncle and his team were working on the right side of the room. There were half a dozen round and square pointed shovels, pickaxes, and helmets propped against the stone.
“What about what?” Whit said, watching me closely. “Feeling any tingles? Vibrations? An annoying buzz much like a pesky mosquito?”
“I wouldn’t say annoying—wait a minute.” Those were the exact ways I felt the magic pulse through me. I narrowed my gaze, struck by a new possibility I hadn’t considered before. “Have you felt it before?”
“Not me personally, no.”
“Then who?”
“Your father.”
I stepped closer, desperate to know more. “Tell me everything.”
“It isn’t much,” he said. “He was curiously private about certain things, your father. But he’d picked up something—”
“What was it?”