Hattie opened one eye slowly, then the other.A breathtakingly handsome man bent over her, his long, dark hairhanging down around his face. Concern etched lines across his broadforehead and from his aquiline nose down to his sensual lips. Deepbrown eyes widened in puzzlement as Hattie’s gaze met his.“Majesty! Do you not know me?”
Her thoughts swam in futile circles. What hadhappened to her? Where was she? Who was this man? She was sure hewasn’t on the museum staff, and he didn’t have the efficient mannerof a paramedic. Shouldn’t he be asking her the name of thePresident, or the day of the month? Had he called her “Majesty”?What did that mean?
She glanced over his shoulder and around theroom. Whitewashed walls, covered with vividly-painted scenes ofstylized ancient Egyptian figures spearing fish, baking bread, andmaking offerings to the gods, rose up to meet a midnight blueceiling, dotted with stars. Good, she was still in themuseum—somewhere in the Egyptian wing, though she didn’t recognizeit immediately. The crazy woman must have run away when Hattiefainted.
She turned her attention to her companion.“Nay, I do not know you. Were you the one who found me in thestorage room? If so, I thank you.”
The man frowned. “Majesty, I caught you inmy arms when you swooned at the funerary rites for your husband,the Great God, may he live forever. I feared you were dead,your ka flown to thegods. Thank Amun I was wrong. I know nothing of a storage room.Such rooms are visited only by servants.”
Hattie stared up at the man bending over her.He appeared to be entirely sincere, but she couldn’t make sense ofanything he said. What husband? What funeral? Servants? Shestruggled to push herself upright for a better look at hersurroundings, but she was still weak and her head swam dizzily.Instantly, his strong arm encircled her shoulders and he gentlyhelped her to a sitting position.
Her eyes widened as she looked around thesmall room again. Colorful figures marched across the rough wallsand floor, and stars gleamed from the ceiling. Two small, high-setwindows in one wall let in streams of sunlight and sparkling dustmotes, while several tightly woven baskets of various sizes linedthe opposite wall. A curtained door in one wall and an uncurtaineddoor in another appeared to be the only exits.
She lay on a low, uncomfortable bed, coveredwith a scratchy linen sheet. She saw no other furniture in theroom, save the wooden stool on which her companion sat. Absolutelynothing looked familiar. “Where am I?” she cried, forcing down thepanic that threatened to rise in her throat. “Am I in the museum?Where have you taken me?”
“You are in your own bed chamber, Majesty,”the man said soothingly. “You have had a great shock today. Pleaselie down.” He gently pressed her back into a recliningposition.
Confused, she decided she must have hither head harder than she thought when she fainted and fell in thestorage room. That would explain the strange woman as well—she wasnothing more than a hallucination. Tom would certainly get a pieceof her mind the next time she saw him. He had some nerve, leavingthe door locked with her sitting inside! At least I haven’t broken anybones, she thought,passing a shaking hand across her face.
Suddenly, Hattie jerked her hand away as ifit had stung her. Staring at it, she felt the blood drain from hercheeks. It wasn’t her hand. It was attached to her arm, moved whenshe willed it, but it didn’t look like her own ink-stained handwith practical, short fingernails. It was a little smaller,golden-brown, with slender fingers and elegant, oval nails.Horrified, she threw back the sheet that covered her. A briefmoment of dismay at discovering she was totally nude gave way topanic when she saw that the slim, sun-browned body lying on the bedlooked nothing like her own pale, freckled frame. She reached up toher head and pulled a long lock of hair down in front of her eyes.It was wavy, like hers, but much longer and, instead of chestnutbrown, it was a rich red-gold color.
“What has happened to me?” she cried, hervoice breaking. “I demand that you tell me, right now!”
Her companion pulled the sheet up under herchin and said in a low, comforting voice, “Everything is all right,Majesty. You have suffered a great loss. You need to sleep.” Helifted an alabaster goblet to her lips. “Drink,” he urged.
Obediently, she sipped. The liquid in the cuptasted strong, sweet and alcoholic. She sank back onto the bed. Herhead buzzed and the pictures on the walls swam into indistinctblurs. What had he put in the wine? Had he drugged her? She foughtto keep her eyes open.
“Sleep, Majesty,” the man whispered.
With his warm hand gently stroking her hair,Hattie stopped struggling and dropped off into unconsciousness.
* * *
“Fool! Are you incapable of performing eventhe smallest task?” The stocky, shaven-headed priest strode backand forth in front of a cringing guard kneeling on the floor, headbowed.
“I am sorry, holy one,” the guard whispered,glancing up. “I did as you instructed. Amun help me, I put thepoison into her cup. I saw her drink it, I swear by Amun! I knownot why she still lives.”
“Well, something went wrong because she isnot dead. Did you spill any of the poison? She fell to the floor ina swoon but did not die. Mayhap the poison was not at fullpotency.” The priest’s gaze bored into the hapless guard’seyes.
“Nay, holy one, I did not spill any. I swearby the sacred name of Isis!” He bowed his head again, tremblingviolently. “She must have a charm or amulet, something to protecther. I know not what.”
“Ast! Go, then…go. I have no further use for you at thismoment. But I warn you—speak of this to no one, or I willpersonally feed you to the crocodiles.” He flapped his hand at theguard.
The guard rose and bowed deeply, thenscurried from the room as if the devils of Set the Devourer wereafter him.
“I can see I must be more careful,” thepriest muttered. “I must take this task to myself. Lesser onescannot be trusted. The next time,
