“No,” Hattie replied in a tone to discourage further questions. If he asks me about a strongbox, she thought, I will put my knife to his throat.
“You misunderstand; the Blackhouses do not own the site,” Bing reminded him in the ponderous tone of one educating a schoolboy. “I imagine the Ministry will simply assign another archeological team to soldier on—the world awaits further information.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed the captain. “The anonymous princess must be identified; there must be a compelling story behind her extraordinary burial. Who is believed to be her father—is it Ramesses?”
Hattie reconciled herself to yet another tedious discussion about history’s giants while Bing corrected him. “Wrong dynasty—the pharaoh is believed to be Seti, instead. Or so I believe the translations indicate. Although…” She paused, her brow furrowed. “Although my dear brother found some contradictions, apparently.”
“Oh?” asked the captain in an encouraging tone. It seemed to Hattie that his interest suddenly sharpened.
Bing shook her head slightly, as though trying to clear it. “He was a little vague in his last letter, but apparently he was skeptical of the dateline hypothesis, for some reason.”
“Well, we can be certain the matter will be thoroughly explored by his successor,” the gentleman assured her. “As long as no one is deterred by the supposed curse.”
Hattie contemplated her wine glass, having noted that their host apparently knew who Bing’s brother was and that he had been killed—not something one would assume was common knowledge. Pushing the glass away, she resolved to keep her wits about her.
“Did your brother recite the particulars of his work in his letters to you, Miss Bing?”
Hattie could not quite like this inquisition and could see that Bing was fast becoming fuddled. In light of this, she offered, “Mr. Bing was a prodigious Egyptian scholar.”
But Bing had forgotten their signal and merely nodded. “He was a brilliant man. Quite fond of the Blackhouses—truly enjoyed his work.” She paused. “I shall miss him acutely.”
Hattie could see that the captain was winding up to further quiz Bing on this sad subject, and decided that enough was enough. Rising, she gently took Bing’s arm. “We should return to our cabin, Bing—it has been a tiring day.”
The captain rose also, clearly worried he had offended. “Forgive me; I was clumsy—the subject is not an easy one for either of you.”
Smiling, Hattie reassured him, “Not at all, although I must confess I have little interest in the god-king’s daughter. But I fear Bing does poorly and if she does not survive this night I will have to forfeit all future dinners.”
They excused themselves and the captain escorted them to their cabin, Bing weaving a bit unsteadily. At their cabin door, he bowed low and expressed his pleasure in her company while Hattie assured him they would be pleased to accept all future invitations until she was forced to rather firmly bid him good night. Bing made straight for her bunk and lay with an arm across her eyes; in a matter of moments she was softly snoring.
Well, thought Hattie; the restorative does work after a fashion—Bing cannot be sick if she is sleeping. After debating the issue, she decided she should pull off her companion’s half-boots but leave her in her dress clothes rather than wake her. Carefully pulling off the boots one at a time, she bent to open their storage drawer only to pause in alarm; someone had been through their things. It was nothing obvious, but she was certain, nonetheless. An inspection of the drawer only verified her suspicions—she was compelled to be tidy and knew that various items were slightly askew.
Sitting back on her heels, she tried to decide what should be done. Whoever it was had waited until both she and Bing were out of the cabin, so their movements were being monitored. Not the captain—he had been with them during the whole. Someone else, then; but perhaps on the captain’s orders, she couldn’t rule it out—there had been something about the way he watched her reactions, about the way he knew about Bing’s brother… You are being fanciful, she reprimanded herself; pray do not start jumping at shadows.
As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door, that indeed made her jump. Hattie stared at the cabin door and knew a moment’s hesitation. Craven, she chided herself—no one would dare make an attack on a ship, you have only to scream.
Rising, she opened the door a crack to see Berry, lurking in the passageway. “Yes?” she whispered.
“If you please, you must stay inside with the door locked. As a precaution.”