“No,” Amos agreed. He put his finger to the window and traced something in the condensation—another bloody hieroglyph.
“A boat,” I said—then realized I’d translated aloud, which I wasn’t supposed to be able to do.
Amos peered at me over the top of his round glasses. “How did you—”
“I mean that last bit looks like a boat,” I blurted out. “But that can’t be what you mean. That’s ridiculous.”
“Look!” Carter cried.
I pressed in next to him at the patio doors. Down at the quayside, a boat was docked. But not a regular boat, mind you. It was an Egyptian reed boat, with two torches burning in the front, and a big rudder in the back. A figure in a black trench coat and hat—possibly Amos’s—stood at the tiller.
I’ll admit, for once, I was at a loss for words.
“We’re going in that,” Carter said. “To Brooklyn.”
“We’d better get started,” Amos said.
I whirled back to my grandmother. “Gran, please!”
She brushed a tear from her cheek. “It’s for the best, my dear. You should take Muffin.”
“Ah, yes,” Amos said. “We can’t forget the cat.”
He turned towards the stairs. As if on cue, Muffin raced down in a leopard-spotted streak and leaped into my arms. She never does that.
“Who are you?” I asked Amos. It was clear I was running out of options, but I at least wanted answers. “We can’t just go off with some stranger.”
“I’m not a stranger.” Amos smiled at me. “I’m family.”
And suddenly I remembered his face smiling down at me, saying, “Happy birthday, Sadie.” A memory so distant, I’d almost forgotten.
“Uncle Amos?” I asked hazily.
“That’s right, Sadie,” he said. “I’m Julius’s brother. Now come along. We have a long way to go.”
C A R T E R
5. We Meet the Monkey
IT’S CARTER AGAIN. SORRY. We had to turn off the tape for a while because we were being followed by—well, we’ll get to that later.
Sadie was telling you how we left London, right?
So anyway, we followed Amos down to the weird boat docked at the quayside. I cradled Dad’s workbag under my arm. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. I felt guilty leaving London without him, but I believed Amos about one thing: right now Dad was beyond our help. I didn’t trust Amos, but I figured if I wanted to find out what had happened to Dad, I was going to have to go along with him. He was the only one who seemed to know anything.
Amos stepped aboard the reed boat. Sadie jumped right on, but I hesitated. I’d seen boats like this on the Nile before, and they never seemed very sturdy.
It w
as basically woven together from coils of plant fiber—like a giant floating rug. I figured the torches at the front couldn’t be a good idea, because if we didn’t sink, we’d burn. At the back, the tiller was manned by a little guy wearing Amos’s black trench coat and hat. The hat was shoved down on his head so I couldn’t see his face. His hands and feet were lost in the folds of the coat.
“How does this thing move?” I asked Amos. “You’ve got no sail.”
“Trust me.” Amos offered me a hand.
The night was cold, but when I stepped on board I suddenly felt warmer, as if the torchlight were casting a protective glow over us. In the middle of the boat was a hut made from woven mats. From Sadie’s arms, Muffin sniffed at it and growled.
“Take a seat inside,” Amos suggested. “The trip might be a little rough.”