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detached and therefore even grander than usually depicted in drawings. Jenny liked the statue immensely,
though she wished the nose hadn t been broken. It made the stern nobility of the features slightly pathetic.
Is it true that the damage was done by Napoleon s soldiers? she asked.
I don t think so, Uncle Neville replied. I heard that it was done much earlier, but for all he did for
Egyptology, Napoleon was not loved I don t suppose conquerors ever are and the story spread.
True to form, Mrs. Syms was the first to call attention to the fortune teller. She came bustling over to
where they were trying to make out some of the writing on the sphinx, full of excited importance.
I went over to see what that was, she said, indicating a pavilion pitched on the shady side of the
towering monument, and it s just too thrilling. There is a fortune teller there, a woman. She calls herself
the Sphinx and claims, so the boy told me, to directly channel the wisdom of the ancients through the
statue itself.
Jenny tried to deduce if there were anything suspicious in this presentation, but Mrs. Syms was very
much in her element, thrilled by this evidence of occult science. Jenny glanced at Captain Brentworth and
Eddie Bryce, but the one looked bored and the other impassive.
Of course we must have our fortunes told, Mrs. Syms went on. Imagine what my friends in the Silver
Twilight will say when I come home and tell them.
Imagine, agreed Lady Cheshire, a trace dryly. Well, if you insist, Sarah, I certainly do not mind. There
is shade near the tent, and we can make a comfortable seat on the sand.
Jenny dove in before the lady s apparent indifference would make participation seem foolish.
Well, I m going to try it, she said. I ve had my palm read, and my fortune told in cards, smoke, and
tea leaves, but I ve never met anyone who claimed to channel the ancient Egyptians.
Through a statue, what? agreed Stephen. All too marvelous. I want a go at it, too.
Uncle Neville s air of detached amusement was perfect. One would never have guessed that they were
all hoping for the solution to a mystery that had been dogging them since before they had departed
England.
Then let us all go that way, he said. Who knows? Perhaps I shall ask the lady what joys may lie in my
future?
Not sorrows? Lady Cheshire teased.
Never, he replied gallantly. I refuse to admit to the possibility of sorrow.
I, Jenny said, rolling her eyes, am going. Follow as you wish, Uncle. Coming along, Mr. Holmboe,
Mrs. Syms?
The three walked ahead, followed more slowly by Lady Cheshire flanked by Captain Brentworth and Sir
Neville. Eddie had melted back into anonymous servility a few paces to the rear, but Jenny felt certain
that should anything happen, he would be ready.
The Sphinx s pavilion was everything even Mrs. Syms could desire. Flame-colored silk curtains painted
with curious signs and sigils adorned the sides and rose cupolalike from a center post. Inside, elaborate
oriental carpets were piled, gleaming jewel-like in the sunlight.
The seeress herself was seated before a low table in the center of this splendor. She did not deign treat
with them herself indeed, she didn t even turn her head when they approached. Instead a young man,
almost a boy, ran out.
He wore his hair in the curious style called the sidelock of youth common in ancient tomb paintings,
and, so Jenny had been told, still worn by some of the fellahin. His only garment was a loin cloth or kilt,
remarkable mostly for the heavy triangle of stiffened fabric that hung in front, swinging as he moved. His
wide brown eyes had been outlined with kohl, and he stood very stiff and straight as he inspected them.
Someone has taken a look at a few tomb paintings, Stephen murmured softly. That s an Old Kingdom
style, I believe.
Mrs. Syms hurried to meet the boy.
We wish to consult the Sphinx, she said formally. Myself and my two young friends here.
The boy looked them over, his gaze almost insolent.
You three, he said. All together or private?
He had a way of saying private that made quite clear that the greater revelations were reserved for such
audiences.
Oh, private, most definitely, Mrs. Syms said.
There followed a brief negotiation over the price. Having seen what a small amount of money would
purchase in the bazaar, Jenny thought the price Mrs. Syms agreed to rather steep, but she was too
excited to argue.
Mrs. Syms went in first, and with great ceremony the four side curtains were rolled down. Stephen and
Jenny fidgeted in listening silence, but heard nothing but the rise and fall of two voices.
After a while, Mrs. Syms came out. Her face was flushed with more than the heat, and she carried with
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