“All those business deals you couldn’t understand,” Fatma said to Alexander. “The ones with weapons contractors and buying up munitions factories? That was your sister. It’s why she tried to ruin the peace summit. She wants a war. All to make profit.”
Alexander glared at his sister, aghast.
“Profit?” Abigail scoffed. “You think this is about money? Or to get back at my father for not inviting me into his little club? Retribution against my brother as heir?” She gave Fatma a disappointed look. “If I were a man. If it was my brother as you suspected. What would you think my motive?”
Aasim leaned in close to Fatma. “I feel a villain rant coming on.”
“Power,” Hadia answered. “It’s what men usually want.”
“What else is there?” Abigail asked. “Egypt has that now. Thanks to al-Jahiz. You once held the scepter thousands of years past. Now you’ve become a new power. While you build fantastic wonders of mechanics and magic, the old powers are in retreat, or squabbling among themselves. England is barely an empire at all. The Union Jack routed by mystic Hindoos in the Punjab and Ashanti queens with talking drums in the Gold Coast.” She huffed. “My father was right about one thing—failing to embrace this new age has left Britain faltering, while the darker races rise. But why create when we can simply take? The heart of Egypt’s power is its djinn. And I will take them from you.”
Abigail lifted her bandaged hand, and the wrappings vanished—another illusion. Beneath, the skin was pale and withered almost to the bone. On the fourth finger sat a plain gold band, adorned with fiery script. Fatma knew it at once—the Seal of Sulayman.
“I will make Britannia rule again,” Abigail pronounced. “Egypt will be the first to fall, its djinn under my control. Then I will set about taking back everything we’ve lost, making the empire whole again. Making us great once more. Perhaps I will be honored like Lord Nelson. Maybe they’ll make me queen.” She stopped to admire the ring. “Or I’ll make myself queen!”
Fatma eyed the woman’s sickly looking hand and the rapture on her face, remembering the angels’ warning of such power: Too much for a mortal to wield so willfully. So often. She turned to Aasim. “You got all that?” The inspector nodded. Her gaze shifted to one policeman in particular. “And you, heard enough?”
The policeman nodded as well, his face a mix of shock and disdain. “You are false!” he shouted. Abigail regarded him, plainly confused—until recognition struck.
“Moustafa. My witness.”
“No longer!” the man shot back. “You are false! I will denounce you with my last breath!”
It had been Fatma’s plan to bring the man along, dressed like one of Aasim’s policemen. Having the witness of al-Jahiz see the imposter unmasked would go a long way in easing the tensions on Cairo’s streets.
“News travels fast in this city,” she said. “Everyone will soon know you aren’t al-Jahiz. There are police all over this estate, ready to enter at a word. Even if you manage to stop us, we’ll be back, with more. You can’t win. It’s over.”
A curious smile stole across Abigail’s face. Her friends snickered. That wasn’t the reaction Fatma was hoping for.
“Over?” Abigail asked. “It’s not even begun. Why, Agent Fatma, you haven’t even asked me what I plan to do with that fantastic clock. I’m going to take it with me, back to where this all started. My timetable was a day or two longer. But now will just have to do.” She broke into a singsong. “The Nine Lords are coming.”
Fatma tensed as the ring on Abigail’s hand began to glow with fiery script. She was set to tell Aasim to blow his whistle and make the arrest when a familiar sound came to her ears. She remembered it from her previous visits to the Worthington estate. Then it had been faint, so slight she often wondered if she heard it at all. Now it was clearer. A dull ringing, like hammers on steel. She looked to Hadia.
“I hear it too!”
Fatma’s stomach went hollow. The clanging. She’d never accounted for the clanging.
“Abigail!” she tried. “You’re being used! The angels, they wanted you to—”
Abigail stifled a yawn. “That djinn Siwa prattled on as much. That the ring came to me through their engineering.” She shrugged her bare shoulders. “I’ll tell you what I told him—I don’t care. The ring is mine now. It came to me. And I’m no one’s puppet.”
The clanging got louder.
“Where’s it coming from?” Hadia shouted. It wasn’t one clanging but many, pounding out an irregular rhythm. Fatma stared down to her caramel wing tips. Was the ground trembling? Around them the walls vibrated and silver Mamluke lamps swayed from the ceiling by their chains.
“Do we take her?” Aasim asked, whistle poised at his lips.
Fatma met the grin spreading across Abigail’s face and shook her head. “Get out! Everyone get out of here now!”
They bolted for the doors. Fatma grabbed hold of Alexander, whose eyes darted about. She spared a last glance at Abigail and her friends, standing amid the shaking room, unconcerned. She pushed through the door and down the stairs, the deafening clanging chasing them outside. Fatma caught sight of Hamed, running to them with several agents and policemen in tow.
Then the house collapsed.
She felt the earth shift under her feet, sending her stumbling. Aasim was yelling for the police to pull back. Men still in wagons jumped out and ran as the Worthington estate crumbled. Towers, minarets, and colonnades broke apart, collapsing whole buildings. The ground followed, opening up
