Page 80 of The Stolen Queen

Annie paused outside a shop with a large window. The etched lettering on it read “Farid Gallery, Cairo + Geneva.” “Should we try one more?”

Reluctantly, Charlotte agreed. Maybe sheshouldhave left it up to Tenny’s contact to do the legwork. None of the shop owners or sales staff were even vaguely interested in helping her, whether because they’d never seen Henry, or his image in the photograph was drastically different from the way he appeared today and they didn’t recognize him, or they just didn’t like Charlotte asking questions. It was hard to say.

Inside, a woman with long red fingernails and a head of thick gray hair pulled back in a bun looked up from where she was unpacking merchandise at the checkout counter. “May I assist you?” she asked.

Charlotte surveyed the shop’s wares as she and Annie approached the register. The antiques here were of a much better quality than the others that they’d seen earlier that day, the displays artful, including wooden boxes with intricate floral inlay and excellent reproductions of faience ushabti—small figurines representing servants that were buried with the pharaohs. The place was like a maze, with beautiful objects covering almost every surface of the many display cases and bookshelves. “What a gorgeous shop.”

“Thank you.”

Annie held up a pendant necklace of King Tut’s funerary mask that the woman had just laid down on the countertop, next to a gold statue of the same. “He’s everywhere,” Annie remarked.

“He is, indeed. My name is Heba, by the way. I’m the owner.” The woman smiled as Charlotte picked up the statue, which was already flaking bits of gold paint. “I’ll give you a tip, don’t waste your money. These are the trinkets we sell to street vendors.” She took the piece from Charlotte and began wrapping it back up in newspaper. “It all goes straight to the tourist traps.” She turned her head and yelled toward a door at the back of the store, “Nephi! Take this box off the floor, please,” before turning back to Charlotte and Annie. “Is there anything special you’re looking for?”

“I’m wondering if you’ve ever seen this man.” Charlotte pulled out the photo. “His name is Henry Smith. He’s English, has big ears, and would be in his sixties by now.” She was done with small talk. It hadn’t gotten her any closer to learning Henry’s whereabouts.

The woman took a quick look. “Hold on a second,” she said, raising her index finger in the air. “Let me get my glasses.”

She disappeared into a back room.

“I’mtired of King Tut, and the exhibit hasn’t even made it to New York yet,” said Annie.

Charlotte understood the sentiment. “Back when the tomb wasfirst opened, in 1922, Tut-mania was all the rage. And now here we are again.”

“It’s not fair, it should be Hathorkare getting all of the attention.”

“Maybe one day she will.”

The woman returned wearing a pair of oversized eyeglasses. She took the photo and studied it, then shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Those ears are quite large, I’d remember them,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you for taking a look.”

“Sure. I take it the missing half of the photo is of you?”

Charlotte admitted as much.

“You obviously feel very passionately about this man. To rip it in half like that.”

“I didn’t have a pair of scissors.”

“Of course.” The woman offered a warm smile and patted her on the arm, the simple acknowledgment of another woman’s pain. “Well, take a look around the store and let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”

“Thank you.”

They circled the floor once, just to be polite, before heading back to the hotel, defeated.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Annie

Annie did her best to stay out of the way of the technicians and staff pressed into a small room in the basement of the hospital. Unlike the Egyptian Museum, the hospital very much belonged in the twentieth century, the floors pristinely clean, with walls the color of snow. She watched as Charlotte directed the positioning of the canopic box onto the bed of the CT scanner, which resembled some kind of space-age torture machine. Omar had promised it would give them a full picture of whatever was inside the box—as well as an “inside view” of the mummies—without having to pry open the lid or make any incisions.

Having spent several days practically glued to Charlotte’s side, Annie had come to understand that the curator had two different dispositions. One was relentless and single-minded, insisting that the workers at Luxor who packed up the mummy support the bent arm with extra padding, barging into antiques stores and shoving that sad, ripped photograph into the salespeople’s faces. Then there were times when Charlotte thought she wasn’t being watched—like looking out at the city of Cairo from the taxi—that her face went soft and thehint of the young, vulnerable woman she once had been broke through her defenses.

Compared to Charlotte, Annie had barely lived at all. So far, this trip had been a lesson in pushing forward even when nothing was going your way, of being brave. Like the story of Charlotte and the Bedouin and the snakebite. What would Annie have done if someone with a cobra bite asked for her help? Fainted, most likely.

She wanted to be the type of person who didn’t let the emotional craziness of others get in the way of her dreams. She wanted to be like Charlotte, striding along the streets of Luxor and Cairo, waving her arms and raising her voice when someone bumped into her or a waiter refused to give them a decent table. Sure, once Annie had gotten them a cab by stepping into traffic, but that was driven by a mix of jet lag and desperation.

Annie loved how physically expressive the Egyptians were, whether greeting an old friend or fighting over a parking spot. Or even deciding which way to place a canopic box on a stretcher to be scanned, which seemed to be a bone of contention at the moment. The technicians, Omar, and Charlotte all appeared to have strong opinions on the matter, and finally, after much discussion, they agreed to lay it on its back. Then they were all herded into an adjoining room where several monitors were set up behind a glass window.

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