Chapter Twenty-One
Annie
After Charlotte walked away from Annie in Central Park, Annie had waited a little and then followed her from a safe distance. On Broadway, she loitered inside a doughnut shop until Charlotte finished up her business at the travel agency, and then darted in, saying she was Charlotte’s assistant at the Met and that Charlotte had asked her to reconfirm the date and flight number.
Armed with that information, she collected her money from the jar in Mrs. H’s kitchen, grabbed her passport from the small desk in the basement apartment where her mother stored their important papers, and then, for the second time in her life, walked into a travel agency, where she paid in cash for an economy-class ticket on a flight to Luxor that connected in Cairo, leaving the next evening.
Charlotte needed her; she was certain of that. Just as her mother had needed Annie, and Mrs. Vreeland had as well, for a short while. Annie would make herself indispensable to Charlotte, who was far too old to be flitting off to a foreign country alone. While Charlotte said she was going for personal reasons, the timing was too convenient. Surely she was hoping to retrieve the Cerulean Queen, and since she had no idea what the thief looked like, Annie would be able to help in that regard. Then, Annie could clear her name and be allowed to return to the Met, even if it was only as a visitor and not as Mrs. Vreeland’s assistant.
She was taking a huge risk, and when she saw Charlotte’s shocked expression on the plane, the recklessness of her decision hit with full force. She quickly slid into her seat, in the row just in front of Charlotte.
“What on earth are you doing?” hissed Charlotte, leaning forward.
Annie twisted around so she could see a sliver of Charlotte’s face between the seats. “I thought I might be able to help?” she answered, her voice rising with doubt.
She didn’t mention that yesterday a pair of men in suits had shown up at the door of the basement apartment. Joyce had been out, and Annie began to shake as she watched from behind the curtain of Mrs. H’s living room as they waited for someone to answer. It reminded her of the night the men in suits brought the devastating news of her father’s death: the solemn looks on their faces, the way they spoke to each other in hushed tones.
Eventually, the two men left, but Annie knew they’d be returning soon. Just as Mr. Fantoni predicted, Annie was wanted for further questioning. The thought terrified her.
As the jetliner rose into the air, Annie gripped her armrests and closed her eyes tight, overwhelmed by the loud piercing screech a huge metal tube filled with people made as it strained to fight gravity. She was grateful that Charlotte was seated a row behind and so didn’t have to witness her panic at being on a plane for the first time. When the aircraft gave a strange shudder during their ascent, she yelped.
“It’s just the wheels retracting,” said the man seated next to her. “No cause for alarm.”
She whispered a thank-you and spent the entire flight distracting herself with the travel guidebook and the history of ancient Egypt that she’d bought earlier that day, figuring she should learn everything she could if she was going to be of help.
When they finally landed in Cairo, Annie’s relief at being back on the ground was short-lived. They had to run to make the flight to Luxor, which left no time for conversation, and the smaller plane turned out to be even louder than the one they’d just taken, more skittish in the air, but at least the flight only lasted an hour and a half. By then, her mouth was dry and her eyelids drooping. The jet lag was like nothing she’d experienced before; thoughts floated into her head a few beats behind their normal speed, and her body felt vulnerable and weak. Charlotte, meanwhile, read through some archaeological journals the entire flight and, after they landed, headed to the exit at a brisk pace.
“I’m sorry for showing up unexpectedly,” said Annie as Charlotte tried in vain to hail a taxi.
Charlotte spoke without looking at her. “I don’t know how you figured out where I was going and when, but I don’t appreciate you sneaking around like that. When I said you weren’t invited on the trip, I meant it.”
Taxi after empty taxi passed by them, instead pulling over for male passengers who were waiting a little farther up the curb.
“What on earth is going on?” said Charlotte under her breath.
“They don’t want to pick up two women,” said Annie. She marched off the curb and stood in the middle of the road, one hand outstretched, palm out. The next cabbie who approached honked his horn and waved for her to move, but Charlotte was quick to the punch, opening the back door and sliding in before Annie joined her as well.
“Well done,” Charlotte murmured. “We’re going to the Winter Palace Hotel,” she said to the driver.
The cabbie stared at them in the rearview mirror before nudging the gear shift into drive. “You wives of archaeologists?”
“No,” answered Charlotte. “Why would you think that?”
“All the foreign archaeologists stay at the Winter Palace. When their wives visit, they stay there as well.”
Annie couldn’t help herself. “She’s not a wife, she is an archaeologist. A curator for the Met Museum’s Egyptian collection, in fact. In New York City.”
Charlotte gave Annie a curt shake of the head.
“Ah, I see. Good for you, then.” The driver didn’t speak for the rest of the trip.
Annie settled into her seat, amazed she was over five thousand miles from New York. Her queasiness began to wear off as a dry wind blew through the open windows. They passed fields green with clover before entering the city, situated alongside the eastern edge of the Nile. Somewhere nearby was the Valley of the Kings, where King Tut was discovered.
“Thank you for agreeing to let me stay,” she said. “I’m ready to help out.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything. I may dump you at the airport tomorrow. And I’m not sure you’re qualified to do much of anything.” Charlotte fiddled with the crank for the window. “Do I remember you telling me you cleaned toilets before working for Diana Vreeland?”
“I worked as a maid, yes. But I’ve been taking care of myself and my mother for the past decade or so. She’s—ill.” It wasn’t exactly untrue.
Charlotte looked at Annie square in the face for the first time since they’d landed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s better now. Which is why I’m ready to try new things.” Like find whoever stole the Cerulean Queen and clear her name, and Billy’s. But Annie didn’t say that part out loud.
“As I said. We’ll see how it goes.”
The Winter Palace, located right on the Nile, exuded a nineteenth-century charm and was where Agatha Christie penned Death on the Nile, according to Annie’s guidebook. The hotel’s cavernous lobby looked out onto a beautifully manicured garden and a large pool.
A woman wearing a headscarf and a badge that read “Fatima” welcomed them from behind the check-in desk. “How may I help you?”
“I’m checking in, and we’ll need another room as well.” Charlotte gave their names and handed over their passports. The clerk checked the hotel registry and studied the documentation, taking her time leafing through Charlotte’s passport and then Annie’s, comparing their faces against the photographs. Annie could feel her eyelids getting heavy, and wanted nothing more than to take a long nap.
“You are from New York?” asked Fatima.
Charlotte nodded, and Fatima made a note in the registry.
“What do you do there?”
“I work at the Met Museum, Annie was recently employed there.”
“Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure,” said Charlotte. “Seeing the sights.”
“How lovely. We have many sights to see. Have you been to Egypt before?” The clerk didn’t seem to understand that the last thing they were interested in was chitchat.
“Yes, many years ago,” answered Charlotte.
Finally, they were handed two sets of keys for adjoining rooms, and the bellman rushed over to take their bags.
“Enjoy your stay,” said the clerk. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please reach out.”
Charlotte gave Annie a room key and told her to get some rest. Outside Annie’s window, the Nile lazed by on the other side of a street where old cars whizzed by donkeys pulling carts. On the sidewalk, a pack of skinny dogs sat panting in the midday heat under a palm tree. The air was suddenly filled with a rhythmic chanting, which Annie assumed must be the call to prayer. The guidebook had said to expect it five times a day, that observant Muslims would head to the nearest mosque or roll out a small rug at the sound of the call.
She had no sooner lain down on the lumpy bed and closed her eyes than she heard a very soft click, like someone was closing a door very carefully. Annie looked out the peephole of her door just in time to catch Charlotte walking by. She opened her hotel room door and stuck her head out into the hallway. “Charlotte?”
Charlotte jumped at the sound of Annie’s voice, and her face was red when she turned around. She was obviously trying to ditch her. While every fiber of Annie’s being wished to go back and crawl under the sheets to sleep off the fog of jet lag, if she didn’t tag along, the only view of Egypt Annie would get was of the inside of her own hotel room. If she was going to clear her name, she’d have to make the effort.
“I’ll come with you,” she said brightly.
“You really don’t have to.”
“I insist.” She grabbed her small travel bag from the table just inside her room and ran back out. “Where are we off to?”
Charlotte’s mouth was a thin line. “I need to track down someone I used to know.”
“An old friend?”
“Something like that. But I’ll need to speak with him privately.”
Annie agreed, and together they walked for about ten minutes until they reached a decrepit apartment building on a narrow street. Charlotte pulled out a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it—at the top was written “From the desk of Tenny Woods”—and double-checked that they were in the right place. Laundry hung from the balconies, and a gang of small children watched as Charlotte rang the bell on the front door. A shriveled woman opened it, looking annoyed, holding a broom in one hand.
Charlotte spoke to her in Arabic. Annie could only pick up the name “Leon Pitcairn” from the string of foreign-sounding words.
The old woman scowled and shook her head and slammed the door hard.
“Is Leon Pitcairn who you’re looking for?” asked Annie.
“He is, and apparently, he’s not home. But I’m not giving up that easily.”
“Where to next?”
“The Valley of the Kings.”
They took a ferry across the river, then a taxi that climbed up into the sandy hills marking the beginning of the Sahara Desert and the Valley of the Kings. Neither a tree nor a bush dotted the landscape; the sand whirled about; the sun was white and the sky yellow.
After passing through a rustic ticket office, they walked up the main artery of the Valley of the Kings, along with hundreds of sightseers. A peaked mountain rose in the distance, but instead of sloping gradually down, the bottom section dropped away in a series of cream-colored cliffs. According to her guidebook, these provided a natural barrier for the tombs, protecting them from the harsh desert environment. The only places offering shelter from the sun were the gaping tomb entrances, which had been slashed into the bellies of the limestone mounds with surgical precision.
“There are so many people,” said Charlotte as a pair of tourists jostled their way between her and Annie. “The place is overrun with tourists, and the damage must be immeasurable. I would think they’d take measures to protect the tombs.”
“The entry fees must help pay for the explorations, though,” ventured Annie. “Are they still exploring?”
“Of course. The underground tunnels located so far are only the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what else is buried under our feet?”
A man selling water stood over by one of the tomb entrances. He offered up a bottle, and Charlotte took it, handing it over to Annie. As she counted out the coins to pay, she asked if he knew a man named Leon Pitcairn.
The man nodded.
“I believe he’s a guide?” Charlotte added.
He nodded again.
“Is he here today?”
“No. Leon’s taken some tourists to Abu Simbel,” the man said. “He’ll be back in two days.”
“Shukran.” Charlotte handed over some more coins. From his smile, she’d tipped well. “Don’t tell him I was asking for him, I want it to be a surprise,” she said.
“Of course.”
Charlotte turned and headed for the exit.
“What, we’re leaving already?” said Annie. “We just got here. Isn’t this where the broad collar was discovered?”
Charlotte paused. “Yes. It was here. I doubt the tomb’s open, though, as it was pretty bare-bones.”
“Is that a mummy joke?”
Charlotte almost smiled. “I can show you where it is,” she said with what Annie detected was a hint of pride. “Follow me.”
Charlotte stopped in front of a pair of tomb entrances located close together. Both were blocked with locked metal gates and solid-looking doors. She explained how when she first discovered it, the entrance had been completely hidden by rocks and debris, and how she’d come upon the first stone step, which led to another and another, until she realized what she’d found was an entirely new tomb.
Charlotte’s strong reaction to the broad collar being included in the Costume Institute’s exhibition now made sense. It wasn’t just a pretty piece of jewelry; it was a part of history, and a hard-won part of history, at that.
“Excuse me, miss?”
A large man in a white robe approached. He nodded to Charlotte and pointed to the far side of the pathway. “My grandfather, over there, said he knows you and wanted to say hello. Pay his respects.”
Annie and Charlotte turned to see where he was pointing. Four old men, also wearing robes, sat in chairs underneath a pair of umbrellas. One rose and beckoned them to come closer.
When the old man and Charlotte were only a few feet apart, he held out one hand, palm up. There was a large scar in the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. When Charlotte caught sight of it, her expression changed from suspicion to delight.
“Of course!” she said. “It’s you.”
“I recognized you even though it’s been many years,” said the old man.
Annie looked at Charlotte. “You know each other?”
“We met briefly, back in the ’30s, when I was working on my first dig.”
“This woman,” said the old man, bowing his head, “saved my life after I’d been bitten by a cobra.”
“I’m happy you’re doing well, Mehedi,” Charlotte said.
“Better than well. This is my grandson Jabari,” he said, pointing to the younger man. “He’s part of the council that oversees the running of the Valley of the Kings.”
“It’s all very different from when I was here last.”
The two of them spoke for a few minutes, and then the man asked Charlotte if there was anything he could do for her.
Charlotte glanced over at Annie. “Can we see the tomb with the sarcophagus of Hathorkare’s wet nurse?”
“It hasn’t been opened in many years,” said the old man. “But for you, of course. Jabari here will take you.”
Annie tried to imagine coming to this strange country alone, working in the desert with snakes and scorpions lurking around every rock. Charlotte’s steely nature made sense now, but whether it had been honed during her time here or she’d been born with it, Annie wasn’t sure.
As Jabari fiddled with the lock to the tomb, Charlotte asked about Leon Pitcairn.
“No good, that man,” Jabari said. “Charming, though. The tourists love him.”
Once Jabari opened the doorway, he led the way, bending low, holding an industrial flashlight that illuminated two scary-looking eyes painted on either side of the otherwise bare walls. Eventually, the narrow hallway opened up into a larger room, the interior decorated with faded hieroglyphics.
“Jabari, would you mind shining the flashlight on that wall?” asked Charlotte, taking the lens cap off the camera that hung around her neck. He did so, and she snapped several photos, even though the paint on the wall was barely legible.
Charlotte took more photos, Jabari lighting the way. “I wish I’d taken more time to study these back in 1936,” she said. “We were all so drawn to the broad collar that we missed the literal writing on the wall.”
“What does it say?” asked Annie.
“I can’t make it out, but I’m wondering if that’s a depiction of Hathorkare,” she said, pointing to a relief of a reddish figure wearing a headdress and kilt.
Annie had read about Hathorkare in her travel guide, a rare female leader who stole the throne from her stepson. “My guidebook says that the figures with red skin tones are men.”
“Hathorkare was something of a chameleon. Several years into her reign, she began ordering the artists who carved or sculpted her image to add masculine traits to their depictions—reddening her skin tone, dressing her in a man’s kilt, adding a false beard.”
“Why would she do that?”
“So the public would be more inclined to accept her role as their divine leader. With every stone carving, every sculpture, she cemented her hold on the populace. Unfortunately, I doubt my camera will pick up any of this clearly, not without proper lighting.”
“We can arrange that for another day,” said Jabari.
As Charlotte took more photos, Annie looked around, amazed and slightly claustrophobic. Over by the far wall was a sarcophagus, and beside that some kind of bundle. Annie let out a loud squeal as a beam from the flashlight passed over it.
“Is that a mummy?”
The wrappings had partially come undone, so Annie could see the head—with actual hairs on it—as well as a thumb poking out of a skinny arm that lay across its chest. She backed away, one hand covering her mouth.
Charlotte, ignoring Annie’s reaction, moved closer and knelt down beside it. She stayed there a moment, unmoving, like she was offering some kind of prayer.
Eventually, she looked up at Jabari. “I always believed this was Hathorkare.”
“It’s hard to say,” answered Jabari. “They moved the mummies around all the time, trying to keep two steps ahead of the plunderers. You can’t be sure, there’s simply no way to prove it.”
Annie’s curiosity got the better of her. “Why is the mummy outside the sarcophagus?” she asked quietly.
“There’s another one already inside,” said Charlotte. “The markings on the exterior of the sarcophagus indicate that it contains Hathorkare’s wet nurse. The pharaohs and their wet nurses were often buried together, as wet nurses were held in high regard. It was an honor.”
“So they were killed and buried with their charge? Some honor.”
“They were already dead at that point. And yes, it was an honor. This one’s sarcophagus was probably stolen, the mummy inside unceremoniously dumped on the floor.”
“The queen Hathorkare was the one who usurped her stepson, right?” Annie said brightly, proud that she’d remembered what she’d read in the guidebook, as well as the fact that she’d used “usurped” in a sentence for the first time in her life.
“Enough chatter. This is a place of respect.”
Embarrassed, Annie swallowed hard and stepped backward, toward the exit. She didn’t want to be in this room full of death and decay anymore.
Her foot landed on something soft and crunchy. Looking down, she recognized it as some kind of animal, maybe a bird, with a long neck. She fell sideways, sticking out her hand to catch herself but still landing hard on her bottom. Jabari was there in a flash, but she waved him away, embarrassed and slightly sick, as a sprinkling of dust fell down from the ceiling. She coughed.
Charlotte pulled a tissue from her bag and handed it to Annie. “That’s a mummified goose you stepped on. We prefer it if the objects in the tomb remain intact, going forward. You need to be more careful.”
Charlotte’s reprimand was the last straw, and Annie didn’t have the strength to fight the wave of self-pity that washed over her. She was a tired, confused, and unemployable nineteen-year-old, without a home or a job, who had just fallen over a mummified dead goose in a scary hole in the ground. She’d been an idiot to follow Charlotte to Egypt, as she was completely out of her element, just like at the Met. Wherever she went, she left a trail of damage and destruction.
“Fine, I’ll leave you to it,” said Annie, wiping her face and shaking the dust out of her hair as she rose to her feet.
“Hold on a second.” Jabari pointed to the place on the wall where Annie had made contact as she fell. “What’s that?” A square stone had come loose.
Charlotte dropped to her knees and began gently pulling the stone out. “The other object we found in here was in a hidden niche. This might be another, it’s definitely loose. I thought we checked every inch of the walls back then, but over the years this one must’ve eroded.”
“Maybe we should get someone to come and look at this?” Jabari suggested. “Someone with the proper tools?”
“No, I’ve got it,” said Charlotte.
Jabari crouched beside Charlotte and shone the light as she worked. Behind the rock was an opening about the size of a milk crate. Inside, Annie spied several pieces of broken pottery and a dilapidated wooden box about twenty inches tall that appeared to be intact.
“A canopic box,” said Charlotte.
“What’s that?” asked Annie.
“Canopic boxes and jars were where the organs of the mummies were stored. They were entombed with the mummy.” She gasped as the flashlight picked up a row of symbols roughly carved into the wood. “This is Hathorkare’s cartouche. Her name is on it, clear as day. Which means…”
“That this might actually be her,” finished Annie, looking back at the mummy lying on the floor.
Jabari spoke up. “Nothing else must be touched or moved, not until we’ve alerted the Egyptian authorities.”
Just then, more dust began to fall from the ceiling. Jabari rose to his feet, looking up, his eyebrows knit together. “We should probably get out of here.”
“But the niche,” said Charlotte. “There might be more inside.”
“We don’t have time for that. Let’s go.” He began herding Annie and Charlotte out. Annie was just about to step into the long hallway that led to the exit when she heard a rumble, not in the tomb itself, but on the other side of the wall, right above where the niche was located. Something had come loose, was about to collapse. She noticed Charlotte glance back at the box sitting in the niche, tears in her eyes. Without thinking, Annie darted back, reached inside the niche, and grabbed the box with both hands as Charlotte cried out for her to stop.
A second later, several large stones fell right where the box had been sitting, obliterating the shards of pottery that had been scattered on the ground and creating a massive cloud of dust.
The three of them sprinted for the exit, the dust storm following close behind.
Annie eagerly gulped in the fresh air outside the tomb. As she’d run, she’d tucked the box under one arm and used the other to cover her nose and mouth, not that it had done much good. She was coated with dust, as were Charlotte and Jabari. Annie handed Charlotte the canopic box, and they both paced back and forth, coughing, while Jabari called out in Arabic to the staff nearby; some ran over with bottles of water, and others scattered, presumably to get more help.
“What about the mummies?” said Charlotte once she’d taken a few swigs of water. “We have to get them out, make sure they’re safe.”
“We’ll need to make sure the tomb is secure first,” answered Jabari. “The change of air pressure when a tomb is reopened or a new section discovered can make it unstable.”
Charlotte turned to Annie, her face full of concern. “If you hadn’t grabbed the canopic box, it would have been demolished. Why did you do it? You put yourself in danger.”
“I could see how badly you wanted it. Are you going to look inside?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s sealed. They’ll need to run it through a CT scan machine.”
“What’s that?”
“A new technology, only been in use for about five years. With it, they can see inside something without having to open it. Like X-rays.”
“That’s cool. Does the fact that the box has Hathorkare’s name on it prove that the mummy with the crossed arm is your lady pharaoh?”
“I’m afraid not. But it’s better than nothing. If the mummy is still intact, that is.”
By now, several men in hard hats had ventured into the cave to assess the damage as Charlotte and Annie, as well as a group of tourists, watched. They eventually reemerged and spoke with Jabari, who turned to Charlotte with a smile. “The only damage was in the niche. The rest of the tomb is stable, for now, but we’ll be extracting everything that’s inside over the next couple of days. We don’t know how long it will hold up.”
“Can I get inside to take more photos?” asked Charlotte.
“I’m afraid not. Only trained personnel allowed.”
“Damn.” She looked longingly over at the tomb entrance. “Everything else will go straight to the Egyptian Museum?”
“Of course.”
Charlotte handed him the canopic box. “This needs to be sent there as well.”
“Who exactly was this Hathorkare lady?” asked Annie as they walked away.
Charlotte looked up at Annie with a huge grin on her face. “Come with me. I’ll show you who this Hathorkare lady was.”
They left the Valley of the Kings, winding around the hills until they reached a massive temple three stories high. The limestone cliffs behind it had eroded into irregular shapes, so that in the late-afternoon sun it appeared as if dozens of crudely carved, ghostly figures looked down on the temple, watching over it, protecting it. Charlotte and Annie followed a ramp to the second level, where Charlotte explained that this memorial temple had been built by Hathorkare, who it turned out wasn’t a nasty usurper at all, according to Charlotte’s research, but a smart, savvy leader who didn’t get nearly enough credit for her contributions to Egyptian culture and government.
Annie turned in a slow circle, taking in the terraces and porticos and the hundreds of columns, many of which still had the likeness of the female leader carved into them. As Charlotte spoke, the macabre creature in the tomb was transformed into a woman with eyes lined with kohl, dressed in white linen, her arms covered in gold bracelets and her fingers adorned with rings, striding across the promenade, giving orders and overseeing the construction of her grand temple.
With Charlotte’s words, a long-dead, long-disdained woman was brought to life.
“Thank you, Annie, for going back for the canopic box. I know I’ve been a beast, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”
“I’m glad I’m here as well.” It had been the most exciting, surprising day of Annie’s life.
Then, in a low voice, Charlotte confided to Annie the true reason for her trip to Egypt. That she’d been married before. That she thought her husband had been killed in a boating accident on the Nile, which she herself had narrowly escaped. That a colleague—Leon Pitcairn—had been with them and was also thought drowned, lost, along with the broad collar. Which was why Charlotte had been so stunned to see it on display at the Met, and why she had decided to come to Egypt to track down Leon, who was rumored to have ties to a criminal organization called Ma’at.
There was more to the story, Annie could tell, from the way Charlotte’s voice cracked as she spoke.
But Charlotte didn’t offer and Annie knew better than to press.