Page 94 of The Stolen Queen

A vague memory rose in Charlotte’s jet-lagged brain of Henry making fun of the name after she mentioned she’d translated an ostracon between the scribe and a master craftsman.Sounds like a camel’s sneeze, he’d said.

Ankhsheshonq.

She closed her eyes, remembering the Egyptian heat, the feel of limestone under her fingertips. “Huh.”

“What?” asked Helen. She and Annie gathered on either side of Charlotte.

“Ankhsheshonq,” she repeated. “When I was first in Egypt, one of my jobs was translating contracts, wills—even shopping lists—found in a small village near the Valley of the Kings, all the day-to-day evidence of what life was like in ancient Egypt. One of the pieces was a contract between the scribe Ankhsheshonq, acting on behalf of Saukemet II, and a master craftsman. What stood out at the time—and I’d forgotten this completely until now, as I had no context—was that instead of being asked to decorate a temple wall, he was being asked to alter an existing relief, by carving it out and changing the cartouche from the former queen to that of the future king. Hathorkare to Saukemet III.”

“So Ankhsheshonq was involved in the campaign to erase Hathorkare?” said Annie.

“Yes, but I can’t remember the wording of the contract exactly.”

“Where did the ostracon end up?” asked Helen.

“I have no idea. Possibly here at the Met, if we’re lucky.”

The three headed to the Met’s library, where the librarian handed over a copy of theEgyptian Arts Collection Catalog, Volume I. Charlotteturned to the index and ran her finger down a column. She found the corresponding page and gave out a yelp. “Yes! That’s it. It’s here in the building.”

They flew off to the storage area listed in the entry.

Charlotte had a new appreciation for the catalog, even if it included sexist views of Hathorkare and was a beast to update. Its format also made locating anything in the collection easy, and in no time they were standing in front of a large cabinet in one of the smaller basement storage rooms. Charlotte gently pulled out the third drawer from the bottom.

Inside, several large pieces of limestone filled with hieratic writing lay in shallow, custom-made foam dishes. “This is it,” said Charlotte. “Oh my God.”

“What?” said Annie and Helen in unison.

She pointed to one of the shards with her pen without touching it. “Here Ankhsheshonq writes that Saukemet II only wants the images of Hathorkare as a king to be erased. He requests that, when possible, her likeness be replaced with that of his son, who is to be referred to as ‘Egypt’s next divine king.’ Here it has the date.” Excitement rippled through her. “Do you know what that means?”

“You have proof that the erasures were ordered long after Hathorkare’s death, as well as the reason why,” Annie proclaimed.

“Exactly. Saukemet II was worried about his son being trounced by a female rival, not angry at his long-dead stepmother. And to think it was right under my nose all along, locked away in storage, long forgotten. When I first translated the contract, I didn’t understand its importance. Hathorkare was a minor pharaoh, so no one really cared. But now we have solid evidence of the reason why the erasures occurred, as well as the date. We did it!”

“Youdid it,” said Helen.

“Group effort, shall we say?” said Charlotte, putting her arms around her friends.

“Frederick is going to have a fit,” said Helen.

Charlotte thanked Helen profusely, promising to fill her in on the rest of the details from the trip as soon as she had a spare minute, then gave Annie a hug and wished her good luck in her meeting with Diana Vreeland.

Poor Frederick. He’d challenged Charlotte to find proof, and she had, but the joy derived from the validation of her theory was tempered by the impact it would have on her boss. He wasn’t an easy man to work with, but she wished him the best. Hopefully the financial success of the King Tut exhibit would lessen the blow of a junior colleague undermining his area of expertise.

Just as Charlotte had been reluctant to return to the apartment she shared with Mark after her adventures in Egypt, it suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t want to have to spend another day in her cubby at the Egyptian Art department, either. Her time in Egypt had been painful and wondrous, but she wasn’t ready to leave it behind. Not just yet.

Furthermore, she’d saved a good deal of her salary, and had nothing left in New York to tie her down. Which meant she had the freedom to choose what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, and where she wanted to do it. With growing excitement, she considered going to Switzerland to track down Henry and then heading straight to Egypt.

Mark, no doubt, would say she was being rash. She had a position most would envy, and she’d miss her fellow employees at the Met, from the security guards who greeted her each morning to the technicians and handlers who loved the objects they encountered every day as much as she did.

But it was time to move on.

She went straight to Frederick’s office and told him about the evidence she’d uncovered. He looked at her in disbelief and rose out of his chair. “I need to see this for myself.”

Charlotte stopped him. “There’s something else.”

He sat back down with a frown. “Yes?”

“I have some family business I need to attend to, in Europe. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

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