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Mr. Al-Ahmed carefully passed him the ring, which Neil cradled reverently in his hand.
“The god’s name wasintentionallyremoved from this seal…” Neil began urgently.
Ellie had already started talking as well. “But the elimination of the phoneme for Yah would have made the name…”
“…which means that this artifact must be…” Neil continued.
“Moseh,” Ellie finished.
“Atenist,” Neil blurted.
She and Neil turned to each other, eyes locking with a mirrored astonishment at the significance of their mutual revelations.
Mr. Al-Ahmed didn’t seem to hear any of it. His attention was locked on the jewelry box. “Do you know—I think there is an inscription under this false floor,” he observed with obvious delight. “It appears to be in a form of hieratic.”
“Sorry to cut in,” Adam said darkly, his hand moving to the hilt of his machete. “But I think we’re out of time.”
The muffled voices from above grew louder—and the outraged tones of Professor Dawson echoed clearly down the shaft.
“I thought you said this site was secure!”
“Of course, it’s secure,” came the easy, confident reply… in a voice that Ellie recognized from Lady Sabita’s dinner party the night before.
“But that’s Mr. Forster-Mowbray!” she hissed.
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose as though fighting the sudden onset of a headache. “The Mustache is the amir,” he muttered flatly. “Just my goddamned luck.”
“Lady Sabita did say he moved in Egyptological circles,” Ellie offered weakly.
“Mr. Forster-Mowbray is the local representative of the British Athenaeum,” Neil said distractedly, still intently studying the seal ring.
“I am shocked to find him involved in anything so interesting as your Athenaeum, never mind an international ring of magical artifact thieves,” Constance mused in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Magical?” Neil’s gaze snapped up to Constance and Ellie as he fumbled his hold on the artifact.
“Fiddlesticks,” Ellie muttered.
“Is that you, Fairfax?” Julian shouted down through the darkness of the shaft. “You all right down there?”
“M-maybe?” Neil stammered back, clutching the ring to his chest. “I mean—yes! Perfectly jolly! Ha ha ha!”
“Are you quite sure?” Julian pressed. “You seem to be short half a rope.”
Neil had begun to sweat. “Oh, that! Oddest thing, really. Just—ah—broke on us, you see. But we’re already working on a… er, solution to the, uh…”
His panicked gaze roved over the rest of them, leaping from a machete-wielding Adam to a dust-smeared Constance, and then Mr. Al-Ahmed, who was frowning over a three-thousand-year-old jewelry box.
His eyes finally slid to Ellie with a look of desperation.
“I must say, I’m surprised to find you down here.” Julian’s tone was lightly admonishing as it echoed down from the chamber above. “I had thought you were to notify me when you cleared the next entrance so that I could join you.”
Neil paled further and slowly closed his eyes.
“But no need to worry,” Julian finished cheerfully. “We’ll sort you out in a jiffy.”
The silence that followed felt like a ticking clock.
“That the true story be known…” Mr. Al-Ahmed read.
