up and we came to a small courtyard closed off on all sides by high buildings.
“Just up this ladder,” the shopkeeper said.
“I’m not going,” Wyatt said, quietly.
“This guy’s harmless,” I said under my breath. “Look at him.”
We both turned to the man and he smiled, showing off his teeth, which were all crooked and brown with a few missing here and there. Okay, it might not have been a pretty smile, but it was sincere.
“See?” I said.
Wyatt took a deep breath.
“Fine, but if this turns out bad, I’m telling Mom and Dad it was all your idea.”
“Whatever.”
“After you,” the shopkeeper said.
Looking up the rusty ladder that led to an even rustier balcony, I had second thoughts myself.
“You sure about this?” I asked the shopkeeper.
“It is safe,” he said. “I promise. You will not be disappointed.”
“You know what,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”
So, up he went. I followed. Wyatt was close behind.
At the top of the ladder, we climbed through a window into a small room where all kinds of dust was swirling through the air. Everything inside was covered in bed sheets that had turned yellow with age.
“What’s all this?” I asked right before I sneezed.
“These are my treasures,” the man said, and carefully drew back a sheet. Underneath was a shelf full of random artifacts. He reached up and took in his hand what looked like a broken piece of pottery.
“My grandfather was an archeologist,” he continued. “His name was Rifa’a Kamil. He made many great discoveries and was well respected by his peers. The one thing that always escaped him was the tomb of Cleopatra.”
Now this guy really had my attention.
“At the end of his life my grandfather was confident he was close to finding the Queen’s final resting place. He was rather secretive about his work. No one knew the exact location of the dig, but I do know he was in the northern deserts not far from Alexandria. He was afraid if he gave the exact coordinates, others would show up and rob the tomb. This broken tile is the only relic he ever brought back. See the profile carved into the stone?”
“It looks like a woman.”
“It is a woman,” the shopkeeper said. “Cleopatra.”
My eyes almost popped out of my head.
Wyatt scoffed.
“What ever happened to your grandfather’s excavation?” I asked.
“One winter, he returned to the site of the dig saying that he would be home in the spring. While he was there, a major sandstorm settled over Alexandria. It lasted for weeks. We never saw him again.”
“He disappeared?”
“Most likely buried where he stood.”
Wyatt leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“This guy is full of it,” he said. “What are the chances that this piece is actually from Cleopatra’s tomb? I’ll tell you. Slim to none. I bet he broke a tile in his shop and now he’s trying to cover his losses by selling it to you. Don’t be an idiot.”
“How much?” I asked the shopkeeper.
“If you buy it I’m disowning you as a brother,” Wyatt said.
The shopkeeper ran his dry, calloused fingers over the piece.
“The artifacts in this room have never been for sale,” he said. “However, I am an old man now. Since my days remaining on this earth are numbered, I’ve decided that certain pieces should be given to the right people. My instinct tells me you are the right person.”
“Did you say given?” I asked. “As in for free?”
The man nodded.
“Thank you, sir!” I said excitedly.
“First, you must make me a promise. This is not a souvenir. I believe in my heart that it is truly a piece from Cleopatra’s tomb, which makes it an archeological treasure whose value is beyond measure. You must respect it as such.”
“I promise to honor your wishes.”
Apparently he felt my promise was genuine and that he could trust me. He carefully handed me the piece. I’m not lying, as soon as my fingertips touched it this crazy tingling sensation ran all the way up
“Just up this ladder,” the shopkeeper said.
“I’m not going,” Wyatt said, quietly.
“This guy’s harmless,” I said under my breath. “Look at him.”
We both turned to the man and he smiled, showing off his teeth, which were all crooked and brown with a few missing here and there. Okay, it might not have been a pretty smile, but it was sincere.
“See?” I said.
Wyatt took a deep breath.
“Fine, but if this turns out bad, I’m telling Mom and Dad it was all your idea.”
“Whatever.”
“After you,” the shopkeeper said.
Looking up the rusty ladder that led to an even rustier balcony, I had second thoughts myself.
“You sure about this?” I asked the shopkeeper.
“It is safe,” he said. “I promise. You will not be disappointed.”
“You know what,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”
So, up he went. I followed. Wyatt was close behind.
At the top of the ladder, we climbed through a window into a small room where all kinds of dust was swirling through the air. Everything inside was covered in bed sheets that had turned yellow with age.
“What’s all this?” I asked right before I sneezed.
“These are my treasures,” the man said, and carefully drew back a sheet. Underneath was a shelf full of random artifacts. He reached up and took in his hand what looked like a broken piece of pottery.
“My grandfather was an archeologist,” he continued. “His name was Rifa’a Kamil. He made many great discoveries and was well respected by his peers. The one thing that always escaped him was the tomb of Cleopatra.”
Now this guy really had my attention.
“At the end of his life my grandfather was confident he was close to finding the Queen’s final resting place. He was rather secretive about his work. No one knew the exact location of the dig, but I do know he was in the northern deserts not far from Alexandria. He was afraid if he gave the exact coordinates, others would show up and rob the tomb. This broken tile is the only relic he ever brought back. See the profile carved into the stone?”
“It looks like a woman.”
“It is a woman,” the shopkeeper said. “Cleopatra.”
My eyes almost popped out of my head.
Wyatt scoffed.
“What ever happened to your grandfather’s excavation?” I asked.
“One winter, he returned to the site of the dig saying that he would be home in the spring. While he was there, a major sandstorm settled over Alexandria. It lasted for weeks. We never saw him again.”
“He disappeared?”
“Most likely buried where he stood.”
Wyatt leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“This guy is full of it,” he said. “What are the chances that this piece is actually from Cleopatra’s tomb? I’ll tell you. Slim to none. I bet he broke a tile in his shop and now he’s trying to cover his losses by selling it to you. Don’t be an idiot.”
“How much?” I asked the shopkeeper.
“If you buy it I’m disowning you as a brother,” Wyatt said.
The shopkeeper ran his dry, calloused fingers over the piece.
“The artifacts in this room have never been for sale,” he said. “However, I am an old man now. Since my days remaining on this earth are numbered, I’ve decided that certain pieces should be given to the right people. My instinct tells me you are the right person.”
“Did you say given?” I asked. “As in for free?”
The man nodded.
“Thank you, sir!” I said excitedly.
“First, you must make me a promise. This is not a souvenir. I believe in my heart that it is truly a piece from Cleopatra’s tomb, which makes it an archeological treasure whose value is beyond measure. You must respect it as such.”
“I promise to honor your wishes.”
Apparently he felt my promise was genuine and that he could trust me. He carefully handed me the piece. I’m not lying, as soon as my fingertips touched it this crazy tingling sensation ran all the way up
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