The garden courtyard had taken on a two-dimensional quality, becoming like a fresh, bright painting. The musicians had reappeared, but the music they played was lost to her ears. Neferankhotep was playing senet with Ra. Menwi and the physician were re-entering, their hands filled with flowers.
Turning away, Jenny hurried to join the others, and found Mozelle coiling around her ankles. She scooped her up, tears of joy blinding her last view of the colorful scene.
“Corridor gets dark after this turn,” Eddie called back, even as Jenny struggled to wipe her eyes clear. “Link hands to shoulders so we’ll not lose each other.”
They did this, shuffling forward, testing their footing with every step.
“Sand underfoot now,” Eddie said. “Step carefully. It slides.”
“Are we playing blind man’s bluff?” Mrs. Syms asked querulously.
Jenny was opening her mouth to answer when Lady Cheshire’s voice spoke, “More like Follow the Leader, Sarah. Don’t worry. I think I see light ahead.”
She was not mistaken. A single starlike glow grew, blooming into a flower, then clearly into a door. There was the sound of many voices raised in conversation.
“I think I’ve seen this place,” Eddie said, puzzled. “It’s the Ramesseum. Somehow, we’re back in Luxor!”
“Luxor,” Neville said, “but Luxor when?”
Jenny was to the rear of the party, and so she noticed what the men had not—what they were wearing. She was dressed in a walking dress, comfortable shoes, and wide-brimmed hat. One hand held a parasol, the other a guide book. Mozelle bumped against the edges of her skirt, clearly delighted.
The others were also dressed in perfect accord with how they would have been attired for a day of touring. Stephen even had his slightly out-of-date coat and hat, Eddie his flowing Arab robes. They all looked mostly clean and fairly fresh—not as if they had been traveling in the desert for weeks, followed by a sojourn in a subterranean tomb. The reason for this became apparent when they exited the structure they had been “touring” and were met by Reis Awad, the captain of their own dahabeeyah.
“So nearly done with the voyage,” he said, “and still you must stop to see the Ramesseum first. You will return to the
Mallard
now. The cook’s heart will be broken into shards as fine as sand if you do not dine upon the banquet he has prepared in your honor. The men will sing, and some will dance, though their spirits will be heavy at the thought of losing our favorite passengers.”
Jenny wondered how Uncle Neville was going to explain the presence of Lady Cheshire, Mrs. Syms, and Rashid, but Reis Awad continued before anyone could offer an explanation.
“And you have found the English ladies, and the Egyptian scholar. How very fine! Their luggage has been transferred aboard the
Mallard
and we shall take it with your own to the hotel in Luxor but tomorrow, after dinner. Tonight you are our guests.”
He beamed at them, and began to usher them along, bustling like a quail hen trailing her brood—though he was as often behind as in front.
Lady Cheshire cleared her throat, and Jenny found her breath coming tight. What would this woman do? And how would Uncle Neville take her rejection?
“Sir Neville,” came the precise, lovely voice, “I really must thank you for taking us in. You are too kind.”
Jenny listened hard for a note of sarcasm in the beautiful voice, but heard nothing of the sort. She breathed easier, allowing herself to hope, promising herself to watch. She saw something of the same mixed response in Rashid’s dark eyes, and they shared a conspiratorial smile.
Stephen and Eddie walked quickly ahead, Eddie pointing out the sights as might any experienced tour guide, Stephen gaping in wonder and delight.
The towering pillars of the Ramesseum rose behind them, casting long shadows in the setting sun. The chatter of the tourists died away, and for a moment Jenny felt caught in one of those hollow spaces between time where the sun can be a hawk or a beetle or a man. A touch of wind caressed her cheek, a farewell pat from an old friend.
It was a wind from the east.