Page 68 of The Stolen Queen

“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 minutesuntil 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 withtourists, 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.”

---