Page 93 of The Stolen Queen

“We identified her mummy, but that news will be broken by Omar Abdullah at the Egyptian Museum.”

“I see. Were you able to uncover any evidence disputing the fact that Saukemet II destroyed her images in revenge?”

She thought of the faded hieroglyphics. There had been no return message from Helen this morning, unfortunately. And Hathorkare’s tomb was irreparably damaged. “I’m afraid not.”

Frederick looked like he was about to rise into the air, his relief was so palpable. “That’s too bad. But at least it means we don’t have to change her entry in the department catalog.”

It also meant Frederick’s standing was secure.

She was gathering the courage to tell him that she was leaving again, this time for Europe, when her phone rang.

She picked up the receiver. “This is Charlotte Cross.”

A familiar voice answered. “Charlotte, it’s Helen. Come downstairs. I have something you might want to see.”

“Annie!”

Charlotte called out to Annie in the basement of the Met, thrilled to see her.

“You haven’t left for Switzerland yet?” asked Annie, giving Charlotte a generous hug. She wore platform heels, striped pants, and a man’s vest over a white blouse, and walked with a newfound confidence.

“Not yet. In fact, you have to come with me.”

Annie checked her watch. “I’ve been summoned to see Mrs. Vreeland, but I’m early. Where are we going?”

“To visit my friend Helen.” Charlotte explained about the phone call. “I don’t know if it’s good news or bad, but either way, it would be nice to have you there.”

“Of course.”

Charlotte led the way into the Met’s conservation workshop, where several oversized paintings in various stages of restoration perched on paint-splattered easels. On the other side of the room were large worktables used for panel work and varnishing. Helen’s altarpiece panels were near completion, with only a few sections of gilding left on the final panel. The other two looked much like they would have when they were finished in the 1400s, a substantial achievement.

However, Helen’s chair was empty.

“Over here!”

She waved to them from a door near the back of the room. Inside was a projector and a large screen. “Come in, sit. How was your trip?”

Charlotte introduced Annie and gave Helen a quick summary. “You’re really sweet to put your work aside to play with my slides. I know they’re not very good.”

“You’re telling me. You didn’t give me much to work with.”

Charlotte’s heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much she was hoping for a miracle. “What a waste of time. Thanks for trying.”

“Oh, I did more than try. I’ve been here all night.”

“All night? You didn’t have to do that.”

“Your note said it was urgent, and I have to say I was intrigued.”

Helen turned off the lights and turned on the projector. The faint images that appeared looked even worse on the bright white screen than Charlotte remembered, only pitiful wisps of random color and lines.

“Ugh,” said Charlotte. “I can’t make out a single symbol.”

“That’s true,” said Helen. “But instead of projecting the slides onto a screen the way I’m doing now, I used a large piece of drawing paper and painstakingly filled in whatever I could discern. I have a few more slides left to do, but I wanted you to see the initial results.” She turned off the projector, turned on the lights, and retracted the screen. Behind it hung the result of her efforts: marvelous, fully colorized hieroglyphics and paintings from the walls of Hathorkare’s tomb as they must have looked right before it was sealed.

Annie squealed with delight.

Charlotte drew close and pointed to the symbols. “These are incredible. Over here, she’s shown as a masculine ruler, from the reddish skin and the way her left foot is extended forward, but the text retains her feminine name. This depicts her divine birth andcoronation. And over here she’s making an offering to her husband, Saukemet I. This last one includes the cartouche of a scribe who worked first for Hathorkare, and later for Saukemet II, Ankhsheshonq.”

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