Daughter of the God-King(74)

But he remained unwilling to give her any insights, and only said with all seriousness, “You must not ask questions, Hattie; I cannot answer them.”

She took this in good part, mainly because she was bursting to tell him her news. “Well then, I have some answers for you, for a change.” At his look of inquiry, she said without preamble, “I think it is all a feint—a farce. I don’t believe there was a mummy—it was all to allow the storage of the weapons without remark, and to create a curse so as to keep the curious away.”

He listened without reaction, his gaze scanning the horizon. “Why do you believe this?”

“Edward had some doubts, but no one would question my parents’ conclusions—do you see? They were the experts and so could create whatever reality they wished. It explains why there are few artifacts and no references to the princess—in actuality, it was probably only a minor find—perhaps not even a tomb at all but an adjunct of some sort.”

Berry turned his head to her, considering. “But if that is the case, why does the false disk refer to the princess in the sarcophagus?”

But Hattie had already considered an explanation and was unable to suppress her excitement. “I imagine Bing made an assumption—the clue probably did not specify the sarcophagus, but the god-king’s daughter, instead. Bing assumed it meant the mummy—”

“But it actually referred to you,” Berry concluded for her, his own eyes mirroring her excitement. “I think you may be right—there must be a clue on your golden disk that is not apparent at first. Do you have it?”

She made a subtle gesture toward her breast. “It is pinned to my shift.”

“Lucky disk,” he said with a smile.

“When are we going to be alone?” she demanded in annoyance. Honestly; it had been far, far too long.

“Soon,” he soothed. “But let us stay focused on the task at hand, if you please. Wait for word from me in your cabin—above all, do not show the disk to anyone.”

“What will you be doing?” she asked with some impatience. She couldn’t imagine what could be more important than an immediate examination of the golden disk or an equally immediate examination of her anatomy.

“Listening.”

“Oh.” She had forgotten that the new visitors from the French embassy were apparently a cause for concern. “May I do anything to assist? Perhaps I could listen, too—they would not guess I was spying.”

Bringing his face very close, he locked his gaze upon hers and said in all seriousness, “Hattie, you must stay well out of it, and do as I ask. It is very important that you do not travel about alone, or speak to anyone who is here—anyone at all. Wait for me to accompany you, always.”

“I will,” she agreed, resenting the implied rebuke when all she had done was offer assistance. “You have already warned me, remember?”

“It is of extreme importance.” After a pause, he continued in a more conciliatory tone, “There is much you do not understand, and I am not at liberty to explain. I must ask that you trust me. Can you do this?”

She nodded, chastened, but felt much better when he clasped her hand, hidden between the folds of her skirt, and they remained thus most of the way back to the river.

Upon arrival back at the Priapus, they were met by the sight of several horses tethered to the palisade, along with the one Robbie had borrowed. Hattie noted with interest that Berry’s assessing gaze rested on them, and she teased, “So—it appears the dogs have horses.”

“They do,” he confessed, and rested his gaze on her lips. “More than a few.”

She primmed her mouth to keep from laughing and said with mock severity, “That only counts as one piece of information.”

“We shall see,” he said with meaning, which brought the color to her cheeks just before they approached the gangway. Hattie noted that Robbie stood on deck, watching them approach, and accompanied by several other men in French uniforms. With some surprise, she recognized Monsieur Chauvelin among them, the Baron’s henchman whom she had met at the Prussian embassy, back when this strange sequence of events first began. Dropping her gaze, she murmured to Berry, “The second from the left—he broke into the townhouse in Paris and I had the felicity of shoving him down the stairs.”

Berry, though, did not seem overly surprised by this revelation and in reply simply said, “Say nothing, Hattie, and go straightaway to your cabin.”

Further discussion was curtailed as they came to the gangplank, the assembled Frenchmen openly watching her, every step of the way, as she came on board. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and ignored them as Robbie strode toward her, sunburnt and dusty from his ride. “Come, Hattie, let’s go inside and call for lemonade—it is dashed hot.”