Page 21 of Secrets in a Sandstorm

We were not careful enough. My heart sinks far heavier than a feather. We are doomed. I cannot ask Ay to kill.

I squeeze his hand, and he returns the gesture. Could we have left the city with less and made do? Did I miscalculate and grow greedy because I am used to living as a priest while he is used to fewer luxuries?

Light bounces off the entrance walls.

Perhaps they do not know we are here, and they are thieves seeking to hide their own spoils, and it is bad timing for us both to be here.

Or perhaps they are coming to steal ours.

Ay releases my hand. As the first man steps through carrying an oil lamp—a soldier from his weapon—Ay charges at him. The man barely has time to lift his sword before he falls, having taken a shovel to the head.

The oil lamp spills, and flames lick over the sand.

The second soldier exits the narrow gap, jabbing a spear at Ay to keep him back. His efforts enable a third and fourth soldier to enter. Ay backs up, but the fire is behind him, and there is nowhere for him to go.

“Been robbing the tombs?” The soldier with the spear hits Ay on the back of his legs. “Kneel.”

Ay does.

I press my hand over my mouth, not knowing what to do. Perhaps I am invisible in the shadows, but I doubt it. I am not a threat to the soldiers. I am not big or strong like my love.

A fifth man emerges, and rage floods my veins. The scribe. A thousand curses on his name and his descendants. May insects hunger for a taste of their blood, and their souls know no rest.

The scribe squints, taking in the scene. “You have been busy, priest.”

I lower my hand and give a little bow. “At your request.”

“Me? I am a loyal scribe. Your fraternization with the stonemason has corrupted you.” He grins as though he has outsmarted me. “I have been told of the many ways you lie with him. Though I confess, it took me several months to uncover how this operation worked.”

“It did work,” I agree. He’s gotten richer on Ay’s risks. Why did I agree to this job instead of leaving? My greed has brought us down. My gaze flicks to Ay, still on his knees, his face impassive. “Why now?”

That grin again. I hate dealing with the scribe, but I need him to sell the items in the same way he needs me to liaise with Ay. That doesn’t stop me from praying for thecrocodiles to eat his lips and women and children to run from his mutilated visage.

“Because it’s time to remove the deadweight,” the scribe says.

“Deadweight?” We are all essential to this operation.

“You.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ANCIENT EGYPT

DJAU

Me?

I’m the deadweight? Without me, the scribe wouldn’t be getting a cut of anything. This whole thing was my idea. It was our way out. We could’ve left and gone with nothing but what we already had, but it wouldn’t have been a comfortable start.

And maybe my hands are too soft—though Ay does not complain when they are smoothing oil over his skin and massaging his tight muscle—because I enjoy a finer quality of thing. But that does not make me deadweight.

“I am sure there are others who will be happy to take a cut instead of you.” Though how many of those corrupt officials will be able to supply new locations? Our working relationship has become more than coordinator and fence. I am the buffer between the scribe and Ay, the only protection I could offer my love.

And now it is gone.

The buffer is gone because the scribe had people to watch my house.

Oh…

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