As soon as we were on board the dahabeeyah, I alerted Fatima that there would be four for tea. Ilyas was painfully uncomfortable now that his duty was done and took refuge in a corner. Latif, who now considered himself a bona fide member of our party, went to console his newfound friend. Nefret and I went to our respective cabins to freshen ourselves. I changed into more comfortable attire and splashed water on my face. Nefret had done the same, and we were in the sitting room when Fatima arrived with a laden platter of cakes and delicate sandwiches. Mahmoud followed with a tray for the teapot, cups, and saucers.

My stomach fluttered with anticipation as I served the tea. Ilyas sat on the edge of a chair and held the porcelain cup as if it were a precious antiquity. Nefret gently admonished Latif to exhibit courtesy and self-control. She did not look at me as I stuffed a sandwich in my mouth, took a gulp of tea, and reached for a cream cake. She did, however, load her plate with sandwiches before she sat down next to me on the settee.

“I have been dreaming of this moment all day,” she admitted happily. “If we had not learned of Borchardt’s advent, the Professor would have commenced the removal of the contents of the serdab. He would have kept us busy until it was so dark that we were colliding into one another.”

“We have worked in moonlight,” I said. “When Emerson’s enthusiasm is at its peak, he allows nothing to interfere. We have slept in tombs infested with bats and in tents that provided no protection from mosquitoes, rain, snakes, or scorpions. This is why everyone recognizes that he is the greatest Egyptologist of the century.”

“I am in need of a nap,” Nefret said. “If you share my fatigue, I will send Ilyas back to the site.”

I put my hand to my lips to cover a yawn. “An excellent idea, my dear. I shall go to the upper deck and recline on a chaise while I ponder recent events. Latif, would you prefer to remain here and have a cooking class with Fatima?”

He swallowed the cake he had jammed into his mouth. “No, ya Sitt,” he sputtered, crumbs arcing across the room. “I would rather learn to be archaeologist so that someday I will be famous like Mr. Professor Emerson. Get up, Ilyas, and let us be on our way.” Had he not been prepubescent, he would have sounded like Emerson.

I stifled my laughter until they had gone down the plank. “I am relieved that Emerson is his idol, as opposed to someone like Sethos, who would train the boy to be a pickpocket and a thief.”

“Do you believe we are rid of the Master Criminal?” asked Nefret.