Fenuku scowled at her, and I slipped my fingers around my Babel stone just in time to hear him say, "What do you want, old woman?"
The high priest poked him in the ribs—hard—and hissed at him to be silent. "Be welcome, Mother."
She smiled, revealing a number of missing teeth. "That's better," she said. "I have come to speak on the girl's behalf."
A collective gasp went up from those behind her, and Fenuku's scowl deepened. Major Grindle looked as though he were watching a particularly close cricket match.
"What gives you the right to speak on her behalf?" Fenuku demanded.
The old woman glanced at me then, and her eyes softened. "Because I attended her on the seventh day after her birth," she said. "And foretold her fate that day. I would tell it again before all of you."
Pandemonium ensued. The sem priests began arguing among themselves and the assembled wedjadeen behind us exchanged excited whispers. Major Grindle stared at me with what looked remarkably like envy. "You were born in Egypt, Miss Throckmorton?"
I smiled sheepishly. "Yes, apparently."
"Did you know that you had been attended by one of the Seven Hathors?"
"Hardly. I don't even know what the Seven Hathors are," I pointed out. Even so, I was trembling with excitement. Here was someone who knew something about my birthplace, something about what made me me.
"Silence!" the high priest finally demanded. "We will let this Hathor speak."
"Nearly twelve years ago, my sisters and I were summoned by the goddess to attend a newborn."
"But she is an Inglaize girl!" Fenuku interrupted. "Surely the Seven Hathors only visit Egyptian babes."
The Hathor scowled. "But she was born in the Temple of Isis, on a fortuitous day, and the goddess summoned us nevertheless. It was clear we were to bestow such blessings as we could, in order to prepare the child for the great fate that awaited her."
The high priest leaned forward. "And what fate is that?" he asked.
"Are you too blind to see what is before your own eyes? The girl is hekau," the Hathor's voice rang out. "A possessor of great magic."
Honestly, Fenuku looked as if someone had put a dead scorpion in his honeyed wine.
"Not only that, she is Rekhet."
Voices erupted at that proclamation and even Major Grindle looked at me with new eyes. I just wished I knew what on earth it meant.
Baruti's eyes sparkled—with pleasure or mischief, I couldn't tell. "This changes everything," he pointed out.
The high priest sighed. "This girl is much trouble for one so small. But you are correct. We will have to consult with the Seer of Maat."
At that announcement, the old woman reached out and patted my hand. I smiled into her ancient eyes and, for the first time, felt that someone here was glad to see me.
Fenuku was wretchedly unhappy with this turn of events. "There is still the matter of the Inglaize major to be settled," he reminded us. From the evil smile he wore, I did not think we were going to like this one.
The high priest picked up a piece of papyrus. "Major Harriman Grindle, you have been charged with laying hands on the pharaoh, penetrating our secrets, and having knowledge of our whereabouts. You also display a disturbing grasp of magic, magic that no one but the wedjadeen should know. Maat will be served only when your life is forfeited."
"No!" I shouted, forgetting myself. "You can't be serious!"
"Silence!"
"He did everything in his power to save Gadji."
"Now, now, Miss Throckmorton. Enough of that." Major Grindle gave me a bracing pat on the back. "We've played our hand and it's run out."
I stared at him. "Are you off your nut? They're talking of killing you!"
"I am an old soldier, Miss Throckmorton. A threat of death is nothing new to me. Indeed, it may be the beginning of a whole new adventure."
I wanted to scream. Did he have to be so noble minded about it? Why didn't he fight, argue, make them see—
That was it. See. "Wait!" I said. Baruti looked at me with interest, while the other two sem priests seemed annoyed. "Wait. All these things he did—touching the pharaoh and knowing your magical secrets and where you live—those are only a crime because he isn't one of you, correct?"
"Yes," the high priest said.
"Well, what if he was one of you?" I asked.
"What do you mean, child?" Baruti asked.
I marched over to Major Grindle. "Forgive me, sir, but I would never ask this of you if your life wasn't at stake."
"Ask what, Miss Throckmorton?"
I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Ask you to unbutton your jacket, if you please."
"What?" he blustered.
Under my breath, I whispered, "Trust me, please?"
He stared into my eyes, then slowly nodded. "If you insist." He lifted his callused hands to the brass buttons on his red coat and began to unbutton them.
"Now your shirt," I said softly. "I want them to see your tattoo."
Raising an eyebrow, he did as I asked and unbuttoned his shirt.
"Now open it wide so they can see," I said.
He grasped his shirt in his hands and pulled the collar apart. A brilliant wedjat eye stared back.
Slowly, like a fire catching at tinder, murmurs spread throughout the sanctuary. The high priest leaped to his feet while Fenuku sat blustering, as if he'd sprung a leak. Baruti, who I was beginning to suspect must be Awi Bubu's twin brother, merely stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Would you care to explain why they're all agog, Miss Throckmorton?" Major Grindle asked out of the side of his mouth.
"Because that tattoo that you consider to be a mark of the Brotherhood? It is the very same mark they bear as members of the wedjadeen."
His eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead, and Khalfani murmured, "It is so."
The high priest and Fenuku were engaged in a fierce debate, so Baruti rose to his feet to address the crowd. "This entire matter is more complicated than we first knew. Both matters will have to be brought before the Seer of Maat. That is all." With one last curious glance in my direction, he turned and disappeared through the door.
Baruti's announcement took the heat out of the two arguing sem priests, and they, too, rose to leave the chambers. As I watched them exit, my knees grew wobbly with relief and I decided I needed to sit down in the worst possible way. Silently, I lowered myself to the floor and leaned up against one of the columns.
Major Grindle looked up from rebuttoning his jacket. "Are you all right, Miss Throckmorton?"
"Yes. Just having a little rest." But the truth was, my head felt as if it might explode. "What happens now?" I asked Khalfani.
"They will take the matter before the Seer of Maat, and he will most likely summon you so that he may discern the truth in your words."
Word of the trial's results—and surprises—traveled quickly and I felt everyone watching me as I made my way back to our tent. I couldn't tell if the looks were filled with judgment over my guilty sentence or awe and fear because I was a Rekhet. I kept my head down and refused to meet anyone's gaze.
When at last I reached the safety of our tent, I hurried inside, anxious to see how Sefu was doing. However, word of this morning's events had reached even here. As I greeted Safiya, she sank gracefully into a deep bow.
I couldn't bear it. "Oh, stop that, Safiya! Please! Get up."
She lifted her head and peeked up at me. "Effendi miss is not angry that I have treated her without the proper honor?"
"No! Not at all. I didn't even know until fifteen minutes ago, and I still don't really understand what it means." As I spoke, I crossed the small tent and knelt beside Sefu's still form. "Has he changed at all?"