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churning gut.
    If she had only a handful of months to live, how would she use her time? It had been an essay question in her high school English class. Dear Mrs. Tams, nearly seventy, had understood the importance of such a question, but to a shiny seventeen-year-old, it had been merely another dull exercise until the final bell. Jess wished she’d been insightful enough to tuck her answer away, to pull it back out and laugh or despair. She couldn’t even remember what she’d written.
    She did know that the true answer was elusive until it wasn’t a hypothetical. Because what determined the answer were the circumstances of one’s life when one found out death was imminent.
    She had precious little time left. A couple days, maybe. Each time she lay down to sleep, the hold of oblivion grew stronger, more tantalizing. This effort might mean nothing to anyone but herself, but if every thread of the loom of the world was important, then she’d go out with hers strengthened by this one purpose. When some lucky archaeologist found the tomb a few centuries in the

    future, maybe they’d wonder about that second skeleton, curled up at the foot of Farida’s. There might even be three, for Lord Mason certainly would have had his bones interred there when he died, if at all possible.
    “Thank you,” she said, coming out of her reverie to find the three men waiting out another of her far-too-frequent zoning trips.
    “You’ve earned your reward.”
    008
    At dawn, they left, taking everything but one small packet of supplies. She was sorriest to see the camel go, for the white female had become a friend on the journey, her body giving Jess strength when her own failed her.
    “Well, then.” Harry held out a hand, and Jess took it, managing the shake. “It’s been a most unusual journey, Miss Anna. I’m glad you found the marker from your story.”
    “Me, too.” She nodded. “Travel safely. And please watch after Dawud.”
    “I’ll look after the lad.” Holding her hand a moment longer, as if he might say more, he nodded, released her at last and turned. She stood, swaying on unsteady legs, watching them mount up, hearing the camel’s snort, the creak of gear and saddle adjustments.
    They’d left her a small tent shelter, which would be useful until night fell again and the stars returned, showing her the rest of the way.
    As he approached, leading his camel, Dawud’s gaze was upon her face, her trembling hands. “Perhaps, Miss Anna, we should stay—”
    “No.” She shook her head. “This is where I’ll die, Dawud. There’s no reason for you to stay. I’m not afraid to meet God alone.
    But thank you for your kindness.”
    He gave her a bow then, his expression again telling her he was uncertain what Allah had intended to teach him on this odd journey.
    However, a true believer, he also accepted things that were beyond human understanding.
    Mel gave her an indifferent nod. She was sure his mind was already on spending his money and how to get more than his share.
    She prayed that Harry and Dawud kept one eye open on the return trip. Mel’s greed was greater than his brains.
    They were faces, just passing, soon gone in the shimmering heat. Preparing for her vigil to await nightfall, she settled back down, the memoir on her lap. If her information was correct, the shift of the obelisk would have pushed up a second, much smaller marker a quarter mile away, on the other side of the tall dune. It would be the lever to the tomb opening, an engineering feat worthy of the admiration of ancient Egyptians. As soon as dusk approached, when she was certain her escort was well gone from here, she would make her way to the place she believed that marker to be.
    Farida and Mason had possessed the courage and strength to grasp their dream. She would make that quarter mile. Farida was exactly as she’d described herself, a responsible daughter, exceptionally intelligent and valued by her father. She’d run her father’s